


your knife to my back, my gun to your head

by CaityCat



Series: Knife Verse [1]
Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gangsters, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Canon Aliens are still Aliens, Enterprise Crew is a Gang, F/M, Gen, Knife 'Verse, M/M, Minor Character Death, Spock is Still Vulcan, TOS References, The Crew is a Little Darker Than Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-29
Updated: 2016-08-10
Packaged: 2018-07-27 10:13:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 41,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7614085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaityCat/pseuds/CaityCat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Enterprise Crew own their city. They steal from the rich or the bitchy, and give to the foster children. They terrorize terrorists and save children. They've destroyed buildings, crushed lives, and torn their world asunder to reform it their way, hoping for the good to win out.</p>
<p>They're not heroes, but they're not monsters either.</p>
<p>Or, at least, they don't think they are. </p>
<p>Some might disagree.</p>
<p>//or the Enterprise Gang AU, where they're like a rag-tag bunch of Robin Hoods, but angry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Each chapter will have specific warnings listed in the notes in case you're worried about triggers.
> 
> This one doesn't have anything, really.

**Seven Days Before // Outside // 9:09 PM**

 

There was a man standing in the shadows outside. There was no sign to name the building he lurked near, but he knew it as  _ The Enterprise _ . It was a simple yet elegant building made of pale gray brick that rose a dozen stories, arching into the sky like it was making a grab for it. There were windows, but they were curtained off, and the single door visible to the man was closed and, presumably, locked. All in all, it looked more like a hotel or office than any building that would hold a crew of elite gangsters.

That was possibly why the police hadn’t found it yet, but the more realistic reason was that the police knew full and well about it, and didn’t touch it because they  _ couldn’t. _

The rumors surrounding this place were as good as neon signs. Inside this nondescript building were the people who had murdered his family. They were a group so tightly knit and dangerous that there was more fear surrounding them than fact, and as such most people stayed out of their way.

The man standing outside the building was not about to stay out. These people were murderers, con men, thieves. Rumor had it that they’d taken over the city in three years, after their old leader was taken out of the game. He was replaced by a pretty blond thing if tales were to be believed, and the young new leader was ambitious, and had every right to be.

If the rumors were true, James Tiberius Kirk, leader of the Enterprise Crew, had been killed once. But the Reaper took one look at his soul and was too scared of all its power to take it, so he put it back, and Kirk walked free.

Some said the kid was crazy. He pulled off feats that should have been impossible. He’d stolen every last nickel from the city bank across town, and not a glimpse of any of his crew had been so much as sniffed out by the dogs. They said even if there were bodies left behind, there was never any evidence as to who did it.

Except, of course, the trademark insignia spray-painted bright and clear on the nearest surface. It was always there, no matter the job, done in one of three colors: gold, blue, or red.

If it were gold, the job was probably important. Gold was said to mean the leader had done you in himself. That wasn’t always true, of course, he had two guard dogs that would spray paint gold as well, but more often than not if you got a gold insignia, James Kirk had wrecked you personally.

Those crime scenes with the blue marks sprayed on the walls were the ones that went two ways. They were either the cleanest crimes, with the least damage to anything that wasn’t meant to be damaged and the latest call-ins. That, or they were the messiest. There was once, years ago, where a cop had been found beaten and bloody inside the jail cell he’d been guarding. The bars of the prison had been bent by bare hands, the impression of fingers clear as daylight. And yet there’d been not a single fingerprint. 

They said the man who left those marks wasn’t human. He was Kirk’s second-in-command, according to the deepest reaches of the underground, and nobody knew  _ what  _ he was. He was cold, aloof. Didn’t care about anyone or anything, and didn’t show anything on his face. They said he was able to put a man to sleep just by laying a hand on his shoulder, and nobody knew how.

The red insignia wasn’t used as often. When it was, it was usually in relation to another gang that had tried to fuck with the Enterprise or her grounds. The victims of those crimes were usually alive to tell the tale, but nobody wanted to tell it. Still, rumors of long dark legs and perfect lips speaking dozens of languages were prevalent to marks of that nature.

The man standing outside the building had no interest in the mysteries surrounding James T. Kirk or his crew. He knew better than to believe in rumors and lies. 

He was here for justice, not worship.

By this time next week, he would have them all dead, and the city would burn for their sins.   
  
  


**Six Days Before // 11:13 AM**

 

“Bones, I hear what you’re saying, I just don’t agree. Han Solo would  _ definitely  _ have kicked Indiana Jones’ ass.” James T. Kirk laughed at his best friend’s scandalized expression, tossing his head back and rocking in his rolling chair. 

“You’re a damn fool, you are, Jim.” Leonard McCoy scolded, “Take away Han’s blaster and he’s got nothin’. Indy would knock him out faster than fryin’ an egg on Texas streets.” 

From behind Kirk, Spock arched an eyebrow. “That seems likely, seeing as Terran chicken’s eggs are unlikely to fry very quickly on concrete, no matter the temperature.”

“Thank you, Spock -- wait, no, you’re missin’ the point--” McCoy scowled at him, making a crude gesture. Kirk beamed at his second-in-command, laughing again.

“See, Spock agrees with me. And when have you ever known Spock to be wrong?” Kirk teased, reaching out with both long legs to tap them both. He could barely reach McCoy, but his toes poked at Spock’s shins affectionately with ease.

“Oh, the damn Vulcan is wrong plenty. You just ignore it ‘cause you’re over the moon--”

Kirk stopped laughing and chucked a pillow at Bones, sending him sputtering but successfully delaying whatever he was about to say. “Anyways,” Kirk said before he could continue that train of thought. “What were we talking about before Harrison Ford?”

“I forget,” Bones said, so Kirk turned cerulean eyes on Spock instead.

“I am reluctant to remind you, as we disagreed on the topic,” Spock admitted, “However, we were discussing the option of clearing out another of Harry Mudd’s safe houses and sending him to prison… again.”

Kirk snapped his fingers. “That’s right! Thank you, Spock. Now, remind me why you don’t think we should send that idiot back to prison?”

“Harry Mudd is a mere nuisance,” Spock said slowly, as though he’d made his point before and was annoyed at having to repeat it. None of that annoyance leaked into his even, steady voice however. “We should focus our efforts on more important events. Nyota says she has heard rumors that the gang calling themselves Nero’s Romulans is attempting to regroup.”

“No way, they won’t come back here.” Bones kicked his feet up on the long low coffee table. “We ruined them. You and Jim specifically.”

“Indeed,” Spock agreed, “I did not believe any of them survived. But I am reluctant to dismiss any whisperings of their revival.”

Kirk threw himself into the couch beside Spock from his chair, leaning into the stiff man with a sigh. “Relax, Spock. We don’t need to worry about them. That was our first job together, wasn’t it? And look how far we’ve come. They come back, we kick ‘em to the dust again. But I’m not gonna get my panties in a twist over some rumors, and you shouldn’t either.”

“I am not wearing…  However, I understand your meaning, and will accept your decision.” Spock did not lean away, setting his book down on the counter beside the luxurious couch. “I shall ask Nyota to keep an ear to the ground for more substantial evidence, in any case.”

Conversation shifted to other topics again. McCoy stood up and made his way towards the small upstairs kitchen, where light was allowed to stream through the big window in a way it wasn’t allowed to in lower floors.

The loft of  _ The Enterprise  _ housed the bedrooms of The Triumvirate. They were the closest of all the crew members, and so they’d decided their rooms would all be adjacent. McCoy also had a room down in the basement, where all his medical equipment was kept, but he spent most of his personal time in the loft with Spock and Kirk. 

The upper floor was divided into three spacious, expensive bedrooms, two extensive bathrooms, and a small kitchen with no oven or stove, but a nice fridge and several cupboards. The larger kitchen was on the second floor, right above the hall from where the less famous members of the crew slept.

McCoy picked up a bottle of something blue from the back of one cupboard and frowned. “Jim, I thought I told you to throw this away.”

Jim looked over his shoulder, breaking off his conversation with Spock to see what McCoy was holding up. He grinned sheepishly when he saw the half-empty bottle in his best friend’s hand.

“What is it?” Spock inquired, making no move to turn his head.

“That super illegal stuff the Klingon gang was making. Tastes like motor oil, but damn does it work.” Kirk grinned like it was funny that sometimes he needed a disgustingly powerful alcoholic beverage. Spock didn’t frown, but his eyes narrowed.

“Damn it, Jim…” McCoy sighed, rolling his eyes. “You are not getting killed off of some craptastic alcohol. Do you even know what’s in this? It could be anything! Think of the germs--”

Kirk gave a long suffering sigh, and Spock shook his head.

On the coffee table, Kirk’s cell phone chirped. It was his personal phone, not on of the burners that he used for clients, so Spock picked it up and handed it to him.

“It’s from Uhura.” Kirk reported, which stopped McCoy mid-rant and had him coming over, bottle of Klingon ale still held in one hand. “Oh, they found the address of that guy who was trying to fuck with Chekov’s ex.”

Spock raised an eyebrow. “You are referring to the man who claimed the alias Apollo?”

“That’s the one.” Kirk’s face had darkened considerably from when he was laughing about Harrison Ford with McCoy. Spock watched the change like some people watched the sunset. “He had more girls there, apparently.” His eyes rose from the phone to look into Spock’s eyes. “I’d like to meet him personally, Mr. Spock. Are you interested?”

Spock felt a tremor in his side, as he always did when Kirk got like this. Kirk did everything for his family, and his family was the Crew. “I am prepared.”

“Then let’s go meet this bastard.” Kirk got to his feet, stretching, and smiled slowly at Spock and McCoy. “And don’t tell Pike about this one. He doesn’t like when I get personal.”

McCoy muttered, “Wonder why,” under his breath, but when Kirk looked at him he only sighed. “I’ll get the usual supplies and meet you downstairs.”

Spock followed Kirk to the elevator. On the way down, Kirk was a warm and steady presence at his side, and Spock decided that if Kirk would do anything for the Crew, Spock would too.

 

**Same Day // 11:13 AM // Different Location**

 

John was a tired, lonely man, but he was a man with a single outcome in mind. His actions were planned to the very end. 

“You should not be present when this detonates.” 

“I will not be,” said the enormous man before him, tilting his head as though studying him intently. John nodded.

“Very well… do not fail me, or I will be disappointed.”

As he walked away, the ticker in his hand became to count down.   
  



	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kirk and the gang go after Apollo, and get more than they bargained for.
> 
> That isn't a good thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't read these notes if you don't want the chapter spoiled for you. They contain the warnings of the chapter, in case some of you are sensitive to certain things.
> 
> The only warning for this chapter is probably violence and the use of a bomb. Honestly, if you aren't okay with violence, you should probably read something else. This is just the beginning.

**Six Days Before // 1:54 PM // Apollo’s Estate**

 

Kirk would never cease to be amazed at how quickly things could go wrong.

He’d admit it. He’d gotten cocky. They’d be unchallenged by anything serious for so long that he was beginning to think that things were settling down. Yeah, they dealt with an annoyance every once and awhile. Someone would get threatened or attacked, and they’d deal with it. But those were mostly harmless incidents that resulted in them coming out on top with only minor scratches.

This  _ should  _ have been one of those instances. Apollo was a single person up against the most powerful crew that had ever stood in the city. And yet, he was quicker with a heavy taser than Chekov was with a gun.

Chekov was still writhing on the floor when the bomb went off.

Kirk tackled Uhura to the ground, shielding her from falling bricks. The walls blew out around him and he felt blood running from his ear. Somewhere to his left, through smoke and falling debris, he watched Scotty grab Bones by the elbow and drag him out the front door right before a support beam collapsed where they’d been standing.

“ _ Report!” _ Kirk called once the initial explosion was mostly over, and things had settled. He pushed up, a wave of white plaster dust falling off his back and dusting Uhura. She rolled out from beneath him and crouched at his side, head ducked to keep from banging against the fallen beam.

“Alive, sir!” Sulu’s voice called back. Kirk couldn’t see him through the cloud of dust, but he sounded like he wasn’t hurt badly.

“I am also alive!” Chekov called a moment later, giving Kirk’s heart a moment of panic at his lack of immediate response. “I am bruised, but alive.”

There was silence. Kirk thought he heard something crackle, but he wasn’t sure what it could be and he wasn’t all that concerned with it.

“Spock?” Kirk yelled, and there was a long, drawn out pause.

“Alive,” came the single-word reply finally. “Currently unhurt.”

“Shit, Spock, speak up next time.” Kirk laughed in relief, raking a hand through his hair. More building dust fell in his eyes and face. “And Apollo? Where’s that motherfucker?”

“He’s dead.” Spock reported, “I believe the initial blast killed him.”

“Alright.” Kirk said, barely half-sorry. “Then let’s get out of here. This one got messy.”

He looked at Uhura and found her already peering through the small gap between a piece of the ceiling and the fallen support beam. “Go on. You can fit. Get out and make sure Bones isn’t having a heart attack.”

“If he is, should I call a doctor? Or do you think that would offend him?” Uhura joked, reaching through the gap gracefully before pushing her upper half through. Her ponytail was gray with plaster.

“He’ll be offended, but do it anyways.” Kirk watched her go until he was sure she could manage, and then turned back. “Are the rest of you able to get out?”

“Aye, sir!” Chekov called back first. “There is a gap in the wall that is high, but not unmanageable. Sulu and I will get out through there. Are you okay?”

“I’ll be fine, go on.” Kirk frowned. The gap Uhura had slipped through had barely been wide enough for her, evident by the scraps of red cloth she’d left behind. He wouldn’t fit without cutting himself up something fierce.

Then he realized yet again Spock hadn’t answered. He turned towards where his voice had come from last. “Spock? Can you get out?”

“Jim, I would ask that you leave immediately.” Spock said instead of answering. His voice was calm and controlled as always, but there was a tense undertone to it that had Kirk’s eyes narrowing as he attempted to peer through the ruined building. 

“Spock?”

“There is a… secondary device on this bomb. I would ask that you evacuate as I deal with it.”

Kirk could see him vaguely, through the fog of still-falling dust and broken building pieces. “Like hell am I leaving you behind.”

He tried to stand, bending awkwardly around the beam above him, and managed. “I’ll come to you. Pike taught me some shit about bomb disposal, okay? Maybe I can help.”

“Negative!” Spock said firmly, “Get out of here. There is a countdown. I will follow.”

“Spock--”

“Jim, boy?” Kirk looked up and found Scotty peering down at him, crouching on a giant cracked piece of what used to be the wall. “Ye stuck?”

“No, I’m fine.” Kirk reached up, climbing through the debris until he reached a point where Scotty could reach down and haul him up.

“They’re gonna blame this one on us, ye know that, don’tcha?” Scotty shook his head, “S’gonna be hard to get the bloody groceries after this."

“It’s fine, we’ll send Cupcake or one of the others.” Kirk waved a hand. “We need to get to Spock, there’s another device.”

“I can see a potential exit point from where I am currently positioned. Please, remove yourself from the situation and I will follow when able.” Spock called up to them, his voice muffled by all the fallen rock. Kirk didn’t like not being able to see him.

“I’m not leaving you behind!” Kirk snapped, “Dammit Spock--” The piece of ruined wall rocked when he stepped forward. He froze. “Spock?”

“I am… fine.” Spock said slowly. “Please do not do that again.”

“The path I took to get up here was more stable. Come on, I’ll show ye.” Scotty grabbed Kirk’s arm, intending to lead the way.

Kirk hesitated. “Get out of there, Spock. Don’t make me ask again.”

“I would never disobey your direct order.” Spock agreed, and only then did Kirk follow Scotty over the more stable parts of the collapsed building. They picked their way through fallen cement, dodging sketchy looking rusty pipes and broken glass.

As soon as his boots touched solid ground, Bones was in his face with his medical tools, waving them around and scowling and cursing. Kirk patted his friend on the shoulder. “Good to see you too.”

“Spock?” Uhura asked, frowning. There was a bit of blood on one of her cheekbones. Kirk resolved that whoever had set the bomb should have blood on their face as well.

“He’s coming.” Kirk said confidently. After all, Vulcans couldn’t lie, and he’d ordered him to come along.

They should leave. The police were no doubt on their way. Apollo lived on the edge of the south side of town in a sketchy neighborhood, but there was no way the police hadn’t been alerted to the bomb going off. They’d be here within minutes.

But Kirk was not about to leave Spock behind.

He’d almost started to believe Spock had lied to him when he saw a dark head of hair appear from behind one of the pillars that pointed upright still. Spock raised his hand, fingers almost spread to make the salute of his people, and the ground exploded again, this time with fire.

It was a small explosion.

It took Spock with it. One second, he was coming towards them and Kirk was feeling the knot in his stomach untangle. The next, the plaster beneath his feet crumbled away and he fell, the fire raging up around him.

Kirk couldn’t see him. 

“Spock!” Kirk roared, lunging forward. Bones grabbed his arms and pulled him back. “Spock! Dammit Bones, let me go!”

“You’re gonna get yourself killed, running into a fire!” Bones snapped, “Don’t make me sedate you! The cops are coming, Jim. We can’t get away draggin’ your ass."

“Spock’s in there! I have to get him!” Kirk broke free, chest heaving, but didn’t run for the flames again. His eyes scanned for an opening, full of the same heavy calculation they were in a particularly difficult heist or negotiation. “Come on, Bones. What would Spock do?”

“He’d let you die.” Bones said quietly, “He wouldn’t risk all our lives on the off chance you survived a fall like that, into fire.”

Kirk closed his eyes, breath shuddering, and then shouted again. “Spock!?”

He could hear sirens in the distance. They didn’t have time for this.

“Jim, the coppers are almost here.” Scotty sounded nervous. “We should be going.”

“You’re right.” Jim agreed, “Get out of here. Take Uhura and the bike. Sulu, Chekov, the Adder. Go.”

“But sir --” Chekov began, big blue eyes wide with worry. 

“That’s an order, boys. Get.” Jim pushed his shoulder, and Scotty staggered back a step before nodding, grimly grabbing Uhura’s hand and dashing away. Sulu took a firm grip of Chekov’s shoulder and pulled him after. 

In a nearby ally there were getaway vehicles. They could all make it. Kirk knew his crew, and he knew nobody could catch Sulu once he was behind a steering wheel. It didn’t even matter what kind. The kid could drive.

Almost immediately after Kirk turned to Bones, there was a hacking cough behind him. It was followed by a rough, sticky sounding shout.  “G-Go!” 

“You’re alive!” He scowled harder at the pile of rubble before him, inching forward. “Spock, where are you?!”

He could see a splash of green. Spock bled green. Before he recognized moving, he’d plunged his hand through the crumbling brick and felt the silky fabric of Spock’s shirt. “Spock! Come on, you bastard!”

“Jim! We have to -- ” Bones apparently saw what he was after and cursed explicitly for a heartbeat before crowding in beside Kirk. “Dammit, Spock! If I so much as break a nail I’ll kill you and take your ears for trophies!” He dug his hands into stone the same as Kirk did, prying away plaster and everything around it.

Eventually there was enough space for Spock to be dragged through, but the sirens were basically on them at this point. Kirk looked up as the lights of a cop car came flaring around a corner.

“We need a distraction.” Kirk cursed, grabbing two handfuls of Spock’s shirt. “We’re not gonna make it.”

Just as he said it, a shiny silver Adder whipped around the corner. It clipped the first car, horn blaring, and someone shot a flare from the window.

“Holy fucking shit.” McCoy voiced, and something rude was shouted in Russian from the Adder as it fishtailed and then blasted away, cop cars on its bumper.

“I sure hope Sulu is driving.” Kirk panted, dragging Spock out of the rubble. The Vulcan was frowning, possibly at being manhandled, but he went into Kirk’s arms without protest, his legs not quite under him. Kirk reached up to touch the blood on his face, dripping from a cut somewhere under his ridiculous haircut. “Are you okay?”

Spock took a moment to answer, getting his feet under him and standing straight. His clothes were ripped in several places and he was bleeding from a cut on his shoulder as well as his head. “You nearly gave yourself away to the police.”

“He’s fine.” Bones growled, “Let’s get to the fucking car before the cops give up on catching the kids.”

“That was the least logical choice you could have made, Jim. I am not worth the risk--”

“Shut up, Spock.” Kirk sighed, rolling his eyes as he turned around. “Can you walk alright?”

“...yes. I am adequate. But Jim--”

“Shut  _ up  _ Spock. Appreciate it a little more when someone saves your life, would you?” Bones was fiddling with his combat first aid kit, but he wasn’t opening it which meant he didn’t think Spock’s wounds looked too serious to wait until they got home.

They climbed in the remaining vehicle, an old red convertible that smelled like sweat no matter how often the upholstery was cleaned. Kirk complained the entire drive home about Spock getting blood on the seat, so that the others wouldn’t really know what he was thinking.

Apollo was an arrogant bastard. There was no reason for him to plant a bomb, especially one that wound up killing him.

Therefore, Apollo hadn’t planted the bomb.

Someone was out to get them.

 

**2:15 PM**

 

John watched the silver Adder peel away from the cops, frowning just slightly. He looked back to the rubble pile where the blond man was digging for his second in command and hummed. He’d meant for one of them to die, but this was sufficient.

As the news helicopters swarmed the scene, casting the Enterprise Crew in more ugly yellow light, he smiled coldly.

Yes, this would do.

He pushed the sniper rifle back over his shoulder, letting it hang on the strap there, and jumped off the room, landing in the alley opposite the Enterprise Crew’s escape vehicles.

He could shoot out their tires now, and let them get caught by the police, but he wouldn’t. Those bastards had killed his family, and countless others besides. There wasn’t enough proof to say they’d done it, no absolute promise that they’d be imprisoned for life.

He had to ensure that his family was avenged.

They would get what they deserved.

 

**5:00 PM**

 

It took almost three full hours to get the Crew back safe and without a cop on their tail. 

“I’m proud of you, Sulu. That was some nice driving.” Kirk clapped his friend on the shoulder, grinning, and Sulu shrugged back with a smile. “Tell Chekov to lay off the flares a little next time though, would you?”

Chekov made a noise of protest from somewhere near the stairs, where he was heading for a snack. He was going to bite the heads off all their gummy bears, Kirk just knew it, but he deserved it after blowing up fifteen mailboxes with his flare gun. “It was a good distraction, yes?”

Kirk let them go without too much trouble, checking Scotty and Uhura over as they passed as well. “Did McCoy look at that scratch, Uhura?”

“It’s just a little one, sir. I promise I’m fine.”

He knew better than to argue with her, so he let her go. Scotty would keep an eye on her anyways.

Which left Kirk with nothing to do bu settle down in the medical area with Spock and McCoy while Spock got stitched up. Kirk spent most of his time there alternating between glaring at Spock and glaring at the television.

Every news channel they got was broadcasting the bomb attack. There weren’t any clear images caught of them, but it wouldn’t be hard for anyone who knew of them to piece together the blurry pixels they did catch.

The camera zoomed in on a smear of green across the pavement with biting commentary and Kirk snapped to his feet.

“Alright, I’m done waiting. What the hell was that, Spock? Telling us to leave you?”

“It was the safest and therefore most logical choice of action--” Spock said, voice surprisingly even for someone who had a needle tugging through his skin.

Kirk glared even harder. “We’re a team, we don’t just leave people behind.”

“I recognize your reasoning, sir, but I disagree. For the good of the many, it would only make sense to leave me behind when I was for all intents and purposes only going to slow you down.”

Kirk shook his head, hissing a sigh through his teeth. “That isn’t the  _ point _ , Spock. Dammit.” He leaned over Spock where the Vulcan lay nearly completely horizontal on the cot McCoy treated patients on, ignoring the doctor’s irritated rebuke. “Would you have left me behind?”

Spock opened his mouth, but no words came out.

He was saved by answering when the doorbell rang.

McCoy looked up in surprise, locking eyes with Kirk. Kirk frowned back. “I’ll be right back.”

People didn’t ring their doorbell. They were deep in the bad part of the city, where the scum of the earth didn’t even like squatting, so it wasn’t like Girl Scouts would be offering them cookies. The police knew better than to ring the doorbell, if they’d finally gotten the balls to try and arrest them, so there were a very limited number of people who would even be at their door.

Most of those people were in the building right now.

Kirk reached for his gun, always safely within reach, but Spock reached out with one hand and wrapped his fingers around Kirk’s wrist. “You will not need it.”

“You know who it is?” Kirk asked, bewildered but still angry. 

“Indeed,” Spock released his arm, letting his hand fall lightly back against the blanket beneath him. “I called him.”

\--

Kirk returned a moment later, fuming. If this were a cartoon smoke would billow from his ears. “You  _ called  _ Pike?!”

Christopher Pike was half a step behind, looking cross. “Ya’ll need a bigger elevator. One more person and my chair would have been too cramped.” He said, and then nodded to McCoy and Spock. “Boys.”

“Sir.” The two responded at the same time. McCoy finished off Spock’s stitches expertly and then nodded his head.

“Well. I’ll be going.” He managed to exit the room before Kirk could grab him, patting his friend on the shoulder as he left.

“I never did like this room, but I guess it’s as good as any in this building.” Pike reached up and hit the lock on the door. “We need to have a conversation, kids.”

“We are hardly children.” Spock managed to point out, swinging his legs over so he could sit up. He stood and went to get a wet cloth from the sink to wipe the blood off his arm. 

Kirk spitefully did not look at his bare chest or back as he walked away. He glared at Pike instead.

“Really? Well you coulda fooled me with the way you’ve been acting. You haven’t stolen a dime in three weeks. What happened out there today?” Pike rested his elbows and the arms of his wheelchair and steepled his fingers. “You know this isn’t a game, right? You don’t get a restart button?”

“It was a setup.” Kirk muttered, “But we all got out, and none of us got caught. It’s fine, Pike.”

“It’s  _ not _ fine, Jim. Dammit, you have to recognize the mistakes you made.” Pike looked at Spock and then back at Kirk, frowning. “The Enterprise… we were never caught on camera before today. Hell, we never left enough evidence to even prove we were at the scene of a crime before today! Now they’ve got pictures, and blood. What happened, kid?”

Kirk grit his teeth. “It was a mistake. I realize that.” He shot Spock a dark look. “We should have been out of there the second the bomb went off. But I couldn’t leave Spock behind.”

Pike rubbed his hands. “Sometimes being the boss means making tough calls.”

Kirk raised an eyebrow, and then forced both of them down into a scowl as he realized it was something he’d picked up from Spock. “I’m aware. I made my choice.”

“Do I need to take over again, kid? I can’t be out in the field, but if you’re going to get sloppy--”

“No!” Kirk blurted out, completely covering the sound of Spock beginning to protest as well. “Sir, it was one mistake. I won’t let it happen again.”

“I don’t know.” Pike said doubtfully, “You’ve always cared a little too much, Jim…” 

“Sir, don’t do this. Don’t take them away from me.” Kirk knew that sounded desperate, even childish, but he didn’t care. The Enterprise Crew was his family, and this city their playground. He might have slipped up just this once, but it wasn’t going to happen again.

“Sir,” Spock spoke up, and Kirk’s fist clenched. “I in no way intended to bring you back into the gang. Jim is more than capable of  continuing to be in charge.”

Pike nodded curtly. “Fine then. Good. Let’s get upstairs, and get some food in you both.”

They piled into the elevator and Kirk realized Pike was right. With his bulky wheelchair, most of the space was taken up, forcing him into Spock if he didn’t want to crowd Pike. Spock caught his elbow as the elevator jolted, and Kirk barely stopped himself from jerking away.

When they reached the floor with the main kitchen, the radio was blasting. They walked in to Sulu cutting up pepperoni slices for a homemade pizza, singing loudly and off key. Chekov was stirring sugar into a pitcher of sweet tea beside him, humming the catchy pop song under his breath as he focused.

Sometimes it was hard to remember that these were the country’s most notorious criminals. Then Kirk turned his head to the other side of the kitchen, where three whiteboards were hung up against the wall with names of targets they wanted to put the hit on written there in neat, elegant handwriting. 

Silently, without the usual flourish, he went and ran his finger through the dry erase marker that spelled out Apollo’s name. There were half a dozen more names beneath his, but they could wait. There was someone who needed their attention first.

Whoever had set that bomb.

He turned around and watched Sulu put the pizza in the oven. Kirk settled down at the table, frowning intently. Beside him, Uhura disassembled her gun to set about cleaning all the pieces. 

“So clearly, we were set up,” she voiced what everyone else seemed to be avoiding. Uhura spoke every language Kirk knew, and that included the silent ones.

“I would agree. It is probable that the entire desired outcome of the bomb was simply to have us caught on camera.” Spock sat down beside Kirk at the table, still shirtless. In the cool air of the kitchen he had to be freezing.

Still furious, Kirk did not offer him his jacket.

“But why?” Sulu asked, and Spock raised an eyebrow.

“I would have thought that much were obvious. Now every enemy knows our appearance.”

“But the pictures were blurry.” Chekov argued, “And there were no pictures taken of your faces.”

“Doesn’t matter.” Kirk spoke up, reluctant to agree with Spock but positive he was right. “They can clear up images. Even if they couldn’t, not many people bleed green in this city.” 

Spock looked down, clearly not pleased with that being pointed out.

“It’s simple, we’re gonna have to watch each other’s backs a little better. Right, Boss?” Kirk looked over at Pike, who was still sitting in the doorway.

Slumped in the doorway.

Blood dripped from the clean hole in his head all the way to the hard wood floors.

He was dead.


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pike is dead, and there isn't really anything The Enterprise Crew can do better than get information.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So first of all, this chapter was not supposed to come out until tomorrow. But chapter four was taking less time than predicted to write, so here it is!
> 
> Warnings for this chapter: alcohol, grieving, violence

**Five Days Before // 2:11 AM**

 

Kirk didn’t even get to go to the funeral. He was going to, but Uhura quietly told him it might be too risky with how he’d recently been caught on camera at a bomb site. Kirk knew Pike didn’t deserve his funeral being interrupted by low-level gangsters hell bent on petty revenge, so he stayed inside. Sulu and Uhura went in his place.

They had buried him at sundown. He had a wife. She was there, standing straight and tall and unyielding until she just couldn't, and she'd started crying. Uhura had told all of this to the back of his head as he sat at the table. They called her Number One, and Kirk felt sickened that he didn’t know her real name.

He hadn’t slept. The night passed slowly, but he sat at the kitchen table in the same seat he’d been sitting in when the shot had broken through the window Scotty had cracked with an experiment two months ago. They’d never gotten it fixed, and bulletproof glass was useless when it was cracked. Hell, even then he wasn’t sure it would have stopped whatever hit Pike if it wasn’t cracked. There was no bullet. Something, a laser of some sort, had plunged straight through the shattered glass and right into the back of Pike’s head. He’d been dead instantly.

At least he’d felt no pain.

Kirk was angry, at first, that nobody heard the shot. Spock had heightened hearing, he should have heard something. But the radio had been on, blasting cheesy modern pop music. Kirk had never hated the radio more than that moment.

He sat at the table with scotch in his hand and a half-empty bottle at his elbow. He had wanted the Klingon ale, but it was gone. He guessed Bones had taken it away. It didn’t matter, there was plenty of alcohol in the building. Between the loot they’d taken off of their hits and heists and Scotty’s addiction to buying any scotch in a pretty bottle whenever he went out, there was enough alcohol to get even Spock drunk.

He tipped back another glass. Before it was even empty, burning down his throat like the tears he still hadn’t let fall, a cool hand took the nearly empty scotch bottle from his clutching fingers and slid it away. Kirk followed the hand with his eyes, already knowing who would be at the end of those slender fingers, and met Spock’s gaze. 

“If you don’t give me that bottle back, Spock, I’ll shoot you.” Kirk said. His voice was firm and sharp, but his words slurred just a hint too obviously.

“Just because I do not lie does not mean I do not recognize when you do.” Spock set the bottle down farther away, and put his hands in his lap. He was dressed in black silk pajamas that were more expensive than the gun Kirk was lazily spinning around on the table. 

Kirk stared at him, taking a moment to figure out what he was saying. Slowly, he realized Spock was acknowledging that Kirk wouldn’t ever shoot him. He was claiming he had nothing to fear, not even from a drunk Kirk with a pistol in his hand.

He was right, but that didn’t mean Kirk was happy about it. As he tried to think of a clever retort, Spock reached out and stopped his hand, sliding the gun from his fingers. Spock often wore gloves when they were out on jobs, and Kirk had realized why long ago. Still, drunk as he was the shimmer of emotions and sensation where Spock’s fingers brushed his hands made him lean forward.

He fell, and only Spock’s shoulder kept him from slamming his face into the floor. He sighed and wondered how his skin, sweating and warm from the drink, was still cooler than the heat Spock always seemed to get off. His nose felt squashed against Spock’s tense shoulder, but the silky pajamas were cool on his face. “I shoulda fixed the window.”

“Perhaps,” Spock agreed, “But that is in the past now, and the blame of Christopher Pike's death falls in no way on your shoulders.” Spock didn’t like to be touched, but he hadn’t pulled away from Kirk or pushed him back. “You would not blame Mr. Scott for the window, nor I for not hearing the shot. You should stop punishing yourself for things that were beyond your control.”

Kirk sighed, his own breath tickling his nose. “You’re real smart Spock, y’know? Sometimes I hate it.”

“So you have said.”

“But I don’t hate you.” Kirk muttered, “Could never hate you.”

Kirk was face-down in Spock’s shoulder, so he missed the way Spock's mouth opened and closed, and the tips of his ears turned green as he looked down with soft, caring eyes. Spock rapidly regained control of his blood vessels and cooled his face. “I could never hate you either, Jim.”

When Kirk did not respond, his eyes squeezed tight and the stench of alcohol fanning out from his open mouth, Spock sighed and lifted him up. He held him lightly and carried him from the kitchen to his bed, laying him down and removing his shoes before he left, silent as a ghost.

 

**7:00 AM**

 

Kirk woke up with a headache that felt like the Klingons and Romulans were having a gunfight in his head. He didn’t remember much of last night, but there was no naked body in his bed so he shrugged it off, chugged a glass of water, and scrubbed the dried blood off his hands in the shower.

When he got out, he dressed for war.

Kirk was an attractive person. He had great facial structure and his hair was the kind of blond everyone wanted to bottle. He had pretty eyes, and his body was toned and well built from the job he worked. You couldn’t get in fights and run for your life constantly and be out of shape. 

He knew all these things and built on them in the way he dressed. If Kirk was to be a weapon, he was a solid one. His tight black dress pants were cut specifically for him, and the honey gold button down he wore had threads of  _ actual _ gold woven in the cuffs. He popped his collar in a way that looked tastefully lazy, and the casual expense of it sold him as someone who was used to getting what he wanted.

He was dressed to be obeyed.

When he came out to see Spock in his sleek black business suit, blue collar buttoned to perfection, he smiled. Oh, if Pike could see how in sync they were now.

Kirk’s smile changed, to be replaced by something sharper and angrier.

He tapped a button on his phone, and across the room Spock’s phone pinged with a message. Vaguely, he registered hearing another beep from the room beside him, and heard Bones start to wake up.

“You called the rest of the Crew to meet us here.” Spock acknowledged, setting his book down. He looked perfect, not a wrinkle in his clothes or a tuft of hair misplaced. Kirk wanted to mess up his hair.

Kirk wanted to do a lot of things. There was a fire raging in his chest, like all the alcohol he’d poured down his throat earlier had been lit up. He was hot all over, itching like ants crawled around under his crisp sleeves. His fingers itched to curl into fists and break bones. His entire being wanted to fight or fuck, and he wasn’t sure which would happen if he grabbed Spock right now.

Bones entered the living room still rolling up the sleeves on his shirt. “You’re bringing everyone up here? Why not meet in one of the heist rooms?”

There were rooms downstairs that were soundproofed and windowless, for when they discussed their next jobs. It was to make sure there was never a leak, that they were never caught by the cops or other gangs. Those rooms made their information theirs, and kept it away from prying eyes or ears. 

“Nobody can reach us up here,” Kirk said. There was a tall long window, yes, but the Enterprise also rose well above any of surrounding buildings, towering over them. Kirk liked the idea of being literally above all the people he hated.

He walked over to their personal kitchen and plucked an apple from the basket before reaching for the upper cabinets, where they kept the whiskey. The cabinets were empty. When Kirk turned back around, Spock was studiously looking at his phone.

Kirk bit into the apple, breaking the skin and feeling a strange satisfaction when the juice ran down his chin like blood. 

He peered out the window. “Nobody can reach us up here,” he repeated. He looked up to see Bones watching him carefully. “And if they can, then we know who to point our guns at, don’t we, Bones?”

The old Southern doctor frowned deeply, but didn’t say anything. He moved towards the coffee pot instead, muttering under his breath. Spock joined Kirk at the window, standing close by his side as the elevator dinged and Uhura stepped out.

Kirk took one look at her and felt a surge of pride. Despite it being only seven in the morning, she was fully dressed, her hair was done, and her eyeliner had wings so sharp they could have stabbed someone. He wondered how they’d gotten lucky enough to snag her from any of the other crews. 

Then she walked by and pushed up on her tiptoes, kissing Spock on the cheek as she helped herself to a glass of orange juice Kirk kept in that fridge simply to get Bones to stop nagging him, and Kirk remembered that weird relationship that had gotten romantic only to go strictly platonic within the month.

They were ridiculously good friends though. 

Kirk was weirdly jealous.

None of that mattered, his brain reminded him. Pike was dead. They had everything to focus on besides Spock and Uhura’s failed romance.

When he blinked, Uhura looked at him with the juice in one hand. Her eyes softened and she reached up to gently touch his cheek as if she could read his thoughts. Even though Spock was the touch telepath and not her, he leaned away from her hand instead of into it as he usually would have done.

She frowned, dropping her arm. The look of worry on her face was so obvious that Kirk cleared his throat.

“Headache.” It wasn’t a lie. Spock couldn’t call him on it. Uhura nodded slowly, turning and moving away.

Spock didn’t call him on it. After a fleeting glance around that Kirk watched curiously, Spock reached out and touched his hand to Jim’s face, fingers fitting to his psi points. Kirk's mouth fell open in surprise, and for a moment, Kirk felt Spock’s consciousness, brushing against his faintly. This wasn’t a meld, but it was something. Spock’s consciousness was cool and soothing as ice water on a burn, washing over him in a way that made his knees weak for a moment. When Spock dropped his hand, Kirk’s headache was gone.

Kirk opened his eyes and watched Bones take a long drink from his coffee as Uhura hoisted herself up to sit on the counter, expertly keeping her skirt down with one hand. Neither had seen what had just happened. 

He looked at Spock, and Spock stared steadily back.

McCoy finished pouring coffee just as Scotty stumbled up the stairs, his overalls ripped in one knee and covered in grease. Despite his filthy appearance, he seemed more awake than half of them, his eyes bright and energetic.

They dimmed when he took in Kirk, leaning one hip against the counter with a half-eaten apple in one hand. He wet his lips and came closer slowly, the energy gone from his walk. He suddenly looked much older, and tired. “Jim, s’gonna be alright, okay, lad?”

Jim smiled charmingly. “Of course it is, Scotty. Of course it is.”

Scotty sighed, and took the coffee Bones offered him. It took only another minute for Sulu to appear, dressed and ready for anything, keys dangling from his fingers like he knew exactly where this conversation was headed. Sulu had always been smart. Kirk privately thought that if Sulu were to leave, he would make a good gang leader all on his own.

But Kirk didn't want him to leave. He liked having the best getaway driver in the city up his sleeve.

Chekov came last, sleepily rubbing his eye. He was in skin tight black jeans, a red shirt slashed with gold accents, and barefoot. He looked maybe fifteen instead of eighteen.

His heart was filled to bursting with fondness for these people, every one of them, and he hated it. 

“So we’ve got a target.” Kirk said, tone as sweet as vinegar. “I want everyone looking for the man that shot Pike.”

“It could’ve been a woman too, sir.” Scotty offered, gazing doe-eyed at Uhura, and Kirk tilted his head to acknowledge his point.

“Where do you want us to start?” Uhura asked, “The usual places?”

Kirk nodded sharply. “And if those don’t turn anything up, we tear the town apart until we find whoever did it.”

The Crew didn’t look surprised to hear him say it. They were all nodding. Uhura finished off her orange juice and set it down beside her.

“One more thing,” Kirk said, “Nobody go alone. It’ll be slower, but I don’t want anyone else getting hurt because of some cocky bastard who thinks he can catch us unaware.”

The looks his Crew gave him made him feel like he’d said something bigger than he said. They knew he cared about them, so he really wasn’t sure why they were all giving him wide eyes and little smiles.

“Go on then, get out. I don’t give you money so you can stare at me.” Kirk crossed his arms, and they all started to move towards the elevator. 

Spock and Bones remained where they were. Kirk was not surprised. It was always them, always the three of them together. Kirk didn’t ever want that to change.

In his mind’s eye, he saw Pike’s slumped body. For a terrible moment he imagined Spock and Bones sprawled cold and still on the ground around him, and he couldn’t breathe. 

Bones hip-checked him, snapping him out of his strange dream. “You know it’s gonna be dangerous, all three of us together.”

Kirk shrugged, uncaring. “When isn’t it?”

“You know what I meant. Our pictures are probably on every wanted poster in the city.” Bones set his coffee on the counter beside him, looking more awake but less than enthusiastic.

“Not true, Doctor.” Spock said, “Mysteriously enough, all the main news helicopters that recorded any images of us were destroyed. The film was not salvaged. Besides that which was broadcast live, our images are safe.”

Kirk looked at Spock in surprise. “What?”

Spock folded his hands behind his back. He still wasn’t wearing gloves, Kirk noticed. “While the funeral was occurring, Mr. Scott and I… took care of several problems that could have arisen should the images of us been released.”

Kirk hadn’t realized how stressed he’d been about the photo situation until it was no longer a problem. He gazed at Spock with respect in his eyes. “I could kiss you, Mr. Spock, I really could.”

Spock looked pleased, but that was probably Kirk's imagination.

“Please, don’t.” Bones snorted, “I just had breakfast. Let’s go, then. Are we hitting Romulus first?”

Kirk grinned darkly, rolled his shoulders, and straightened his cuffs. “I think Uhura’s heading there. Why don’t we head straight for Admiralty instead?”

Spock let out a minuscule sigh beside him that Kirk pretended not to hear.

 

**8:45 AM // Downtown, Romulan Territory**

 

A few years ago, the cigar lounge Uhura and Scotty entered had been under different management. It had been filthy then, like no one had bothered to clean it, and that had probably been the case. 

It had been a front for a terrorist organization. Spock and Kirk had taken the lead man down in a bloody fight years ago, in Spock’s first real job with the gang. Scotty knew there was personal drama between Spock and the man, but he had never pried. He and the Vulcan were not close friends and so he didn’t know the whole story, but he knew that the man had been insane.

The shift in management was noticeable straight away. Scotty had always liked the smell of expensive cigars, and that was the only smell he could make out as they walked in. The place was neat, tidy even. There were books everywhere, and lounging chairs. The bar was clean, and as he watched a female Romulan wiped it down even more.

He almost wouldn’t recognize it.

Uhura was in heels, and so she towered nearly level height with Scotty. She took his arm as they entered, not because she needed to keep steady but because the point of contact calmed his nerves.

“Hello,” Uhura said sweetly, in perfect, precise Romulan. “We’re here about the man who killed Christopher Pike.”

Across the room, a Romulan dropped his cigar.

Uhura flashed Scotty a smile, and Scotty let her go. She crossed the silent room with only the clicking of her heels announcing her presence. The Romulan that had dropped his cigar looked faintly green.

Damn, Scotty thought, she was beautiful when she was dangerous.

Ah, Scotty remembered, that was all the time.

 

**9:26 AM // Downtown, Klingon Territory**

 

“But you are not answering my questions.” Chekov said, frowning petulantly. Sulu wiped the blood off his lip with his thumb and leaned against the bar. “I would like for you to answer.”

“I won’t tell you shit _ , qa’hom _ .” The Klingon spat in Chekov’s face. Chekov sighed.

“That was wery rude.”

All around them were unconscious or groaning Klingons. They hadn’t killed a single soul, but it had been a close call. Especially when one had punched Sulu so hard he thought he’d lost a tooth.

The tooth was fine. The Klingon was not.

The last one that had been upright was currently pinned between Chekov and the bar, a shiny knife up against his throat.

Sulu liked Chekov a lot.

“You came here, you insult my people, and you think I’ll give you anything?” The Klingon snarled, “I don’t care about you. Run home to your boss,  _ qa’hom _ , tell him to send someone better than the puppy.”

Chekov’s eyes narrowed and his grip tightened on the knife. Sulu tapped his wrist gently, staying his hand. “Look, buddy,” Sulu said, rolling his eyes to look at the Klingon, “You’re not fooling anyone. We took out this whole bar, you’re pinned to a sticky bar stool. There’s no point -- no honor in acting tough. Tell us what we want to know, and we’re out of here. In fact, we won’t even tell anyone we took all of you down. You keep your honor, we get our information. It’s all fair, wouldn’t you say?”

The Klingon glared at them both. “You know nothing of honor.”

“I know it isn’t present in anyone who snipes a man in a wheelchair.” Sulu returned swiftly, his eyes dark and cold. 

The Klingon’s frown lessened. “It is not.” He sighed, pushing Chekov off of his chest. The smaller man immediately prepared to fight back, but the Klingon sat down heavily, clearly not going to fight. “The man is not one of us. I do not know him. He seemed to bear himself with honor, but if what you say is true then that is not so. I can tell you where to find him, if you wish to look.”

Sulu held out a napkin and a pen. “An address is all we need.”   
  


**10:00 AM // Uptown**

 

The Admiralty used to have another name, back when Kirk was just barely old enough to get in (much less bartend, but that had happened anyways). It was a clean bar, where you could sit without wondering what had spilled on the counter, and they sold good food. But it also rested right on the edge of the darker part of the city, so sometimes its patrons weren’t the kind that most people enjoyed dining with.

Oddly enough though, it was also where most of the admirals and higher ranking officers in Starfleet spent their off-duty time. That’s where it got the name it used now.

Kirk sidled into the bar with his shirt unbuttoned just enough. Spock and Bones were with him, flanking him like bodyguards he didn’t need, but they stepped away as he made a beeline for the bar itself.

He grinned when he saw the blonde behind the counter wiping glasses. His life had just gotten easier.

Carol Marcus was smart. She had graduated top of her class in weapon design, and would have gone on to be an excellent student at Starfleet had her father not denied her access. He’d done it to protect her, he said, but she hadn’t wanted his protection. They’d been rough for a while. In a fit of anger and to show that she really didn’t need his protection, she started to work to uncover the plot of an organization that had been irritating Starfleet on their own turf.

That’s how Kirk met her. She’d been kidnapped, and he and Spock just happened to be heisting that day. They’d broken into the compound in search of money, weapons and bikes, and found her there. Once they’d busted the lock on the door keeping her in one place, she explained what she was doing, helped them kick some ass, and then they helped get her out.

She figured out what they were right off the bat, but she didn’t mind. Apparently she thought they were pretty good guys.

Her dad hadn’t been happy, and their relationship got worse. A few months ago she’d started bartending at the Admiralty to make some extra cash so she could leave the city. 

Eventually they’d made up though, apparently, because Alexander Marcus visited the bar constantly, and she always fixed him a drink while they talked.

Kirk liked Carol. She was always willing to help him.

“Hey, Care.” He greeted as he settled down on his favorite stool. He had free choice, seeing as most of the bar was empty. There was a pair of guys in uniform sitting at one of the tables along the wall, but other than that it was just him, Bones, and Spock. Carol looked over her shoulder and brightened upon seeing him. 

“Kirk. The usual?”

Kirk could feel Bones glaring as if he could sever his spine with his eyes, and smiled even wider. “Absolutely.”

The drink Carol brought him was simple, and burned as he sucked it down. He had never been more grateful for her. “Thanks. But unfortunately I’m not here for a friendly chat.”

Carol’s eyes dimmed. “I heard about Pike. I’m sorry.” 

Kirk tapped his fingers against the bar in a measured, furious pattern. “Me too. But I’m not here to talk about that, either.”

Carol frowned, taking his glass and refilling it. “What are you here for, then?”

“I want information, and this guy has weapons none of the… usual people use.” Kirk knew she’d understand that he meant the other gangs. Carol was brilliant. Sure enough, her frown deepened.

“What kind of weapons?”

“Starfleet weapons.” Kirk said firmly, only just now deciding it had to be true. “Pike was shot, Carol. But there weren’t any bullets.”

Carol set down the rag she’d been using to clean the glasses and frowned at him. “That’s not possible. Starfleet weaponry, as well as all its tech, is completely unavailable to the public. I don’t even think  _ your  _ crew could get your hands on it.”

Kirk pointedly did not think of the communicators he’d stolen, that Scotty and Uhura had dissected and torn apart and put back together. If he now knew everything happening in the Starfleet courtrooms, that was his business.

“Well, regardless,” he said instead, “Someone has it, and they used it to kill my friend. I want all you know about it.”

“You want all she knows about what?” 

Kirk’s breath left him in a sigh as Alexander Marcus settled down on the bar stool next to him. Admiral Marcus was not one of Kirk’s favorite people. He didn’t know what Kirk did for a living exactly, but he was suspicious, and Kirk didn’t like having to be careful. Kirk also didn’t like that Admiral Marcus tried to control his daughter. Kirk believed people should be free to make their own choices and do what they want.

Technically, in Kirk’s book that also applied to a lot of illegal things, but that was besides the point.

“All she knows about Andorian brandy.” Kirk lied smoothly. Over Marcus’ shoulder, he saw Spock move further into the shadows in the corner of the bar. Spock wasn’t well liked among older members of Starfleet personnel because they all thought he was a selfish bastard to have left his father. Kirk thought they were all selfish bastards for trying to keep Spock tied down. He turned his attention back to Marcus. “I had some the other day, and it was pretty damn good.”

“You know, son, I saw something on the news yesterday that made me a little concerned.” Marcus said, completely ignoring what Kirk said. 

Kirk tensed minutely, but didn’t let it show. Maybe living with Spock made him more in control of his expressions. He tried to look sympathetic instead of uncomfortable. “What was it?”

Marcus gave him a look that told Kirk that he wasn’t buying his act. “You know what I’m talking about.” 

Bones loudly cleared his throat. Kirk glanced over and saw that there were two enormous men flicking the locks on the doors and then standing in front of them. Kirk turned back to Marcus, tense. His eyes narrowed. “I’m afraid I have no idea,  _ sir. _ ”

“Dad, what are you doing?” Carol sounded horrified, slamming a glass down on the counter.

Marcus sighed and shook his head, leaning against the bar. “Sweetheart, you know your friends aren’t good guys. I’m just talkin’ business, alright? Those guys are just to make sure more of his kind don't show up and try anything funny.” He jerked a thumb at Kirk.

Kirk rolled his eyes, “Is this gonna be a threat? Because we can get to the threat and move on, if it is. I hate when guys talk for forever, and I’m kinda busy at the moment.”

Marcus stared at him as if he were a particularly disgusting bug he’d like to crush. “You’re running the Enterprise gang, aren’t you, Kirk?”

Kirk stared back evenly, and said nothing. He could lie and say he wasn’t, but for all that he was a jackass, Marcus wasn’t an idiot. 

“Come on now, don’t be shy. It’s just us two, having a chat.” 

“Look, sir, I really don’t have time for this.” Kirk rose to his feet, and Marcus stood up as well. Between the bar stools there was maybe two feet, so Kirk found himself staring at Marcus’ chin.

“I don’t remember asking for your time, kid. I remember saying we were chatting. Settle down.” Marcus had gray eyes the color of worn steel. Kirk saw the threat in them, and a muscle in his jaw tick. He didn’t move. “Sit down, Kirk.”

“I should be going.” Kirk said, voice low and dangerous. He couldn’t see Spock or Bones without peering around the man’s shoulder, which irritated him. He didn’t like for his Crew to be out of his sight for too long.

“Don’t be rude.” Marcus said. He reached up and put a hand on Kirk’s shoulder. Ordinarily, the gesture wasn’t intimidating, but Marcus pushed down, like he could physically force Kirk onto the stool.

“Dad!” Carol gasped, reaching forward and grabbing her father's sleeve. “Dad, stop it! What the hell are you doing?!”

“Why don’t you go home early, Carol?” Marcus said, “You could make us dinner.”

“If you don’t take your hands off him right now, I’ll--”

“You’ll what, Carol? Call the cops? I’m pretty sure that’ll be worse for him than me.” Marcus turned his cold gaze back to Kirk, who had remained silent throughout the exchange, attempting to control his boiling rage. “Won’t it, son?”

“Get your hands off me.” Kirk said, voice level but tinged with a dark promise.

“I’m just here to talk.” Marcus said, pushing again. Kirk rocked with the force but did not sit down. “That’s what you wanted to do, right? Or do you only talk to pretty bartenders? I can never tell with you gangbangers.”

“I believe that my companion has asked you to release your hold.” 

Kirk looked up, actually surprised. Spock didn’t usually interfere with Kirk’s fights unless he saw things going south, but there he was, close enough to Kirk’s side that Kirk could feel his Vulcan body heat. 

Marcus sighed, “If your father could see you now, Spock…”

Spock arched one eyebrow. “He would no doubt be more concerned with an admiral of Starfleet laying hands on a civilian than anything I have done today thus far.” There was a threat to those words that had Kirk unintentionally grinning.

Marcus sighed, rolling his eyes, but he dropped his hand. Kirk turned away, Spock shadowing him as they moved towards the door. Marcus’ armed guards were still standing there like sentries. Bones lounged beside them at his table, looking lazy and relaxed with his sweet tea, but Kirk could see clearly how his dangling hand was just close enough to his waistband for him to grab the knife there within a blink if he needed to. 

The guards at the door didn’t move even as Kirk approached, and he felt the tension in the air escalate.

“Y’know, Pike was a better man than this.” 

Kirk stopped, Spock halting at the same time right at his shoulder. Bones looked up with a thunderous expression and Kirk felt that thunder in his chest. He grit his teeth before he started throwing punches. Instead, he said coldly, “Don’t bring him into this, Marcus. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“He’s dead, right? That’s a real shame.” Marcus sounded like he was being honest, “I liked Pike. He would have made a good captain, maybe even an admiral if he hadn’t quit.”

“You know damn well he didn’t--” Bones started, scowling as he set his glass down. Kirk held up a hand, shushing him.

“Do you have a point, or are you just trying to push my buttons?” Kirk demanded, turning halfway to face Marcus. Carol was on the other side of the bar, her face flushed and angry, but Kirk kept his eyes on her father.

“There’s a man messing you up, Kirk.” Marcus traced the whorls in the wood with his knuckles, rolling his neck as he stretched. “I can tell you everything Starfleet knows about him, but you have to make me a promise.”

Kirk scoffed, “Yeah? And what do you think I’ll promise you?”

“That you’ll kill him.” Marcus looked up, “You have to promise me that you’ll kill him.”


	4. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They've got the information, now they need the man. Also, Kirk is kind of falling apart at the seams, and everyone is worried because they love him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a special note at the end of this chapter, but it was kinda long so I didn't wanna put it up here.
> 
> warnings *AGAIN SPOILERS ARE HERE IN THE WARNINGS*: violence, guns, mild angst, reference to abuse of background characters, explosions

**Five Days Before // 3:00 PM // The Enterprise Heist Room**

 

“He escaped from a maximum security Starfleet prison and they can’t find him, but you think we can?” McCoy looked like he thought Kirk was insane, but that was an almost daily occurence so Kirk didn’t linger too long on it.

“His name is John Harrison,” Kirk said, continuing as though his friend had never spoken. “Or at least, they think that’s his name. Apparently, this guy is crazy.”

“Who cares what his name is? Jim, you can’t honestly believe that we can find him when Starfleet can’t.” McCoy rubbed a hand across his face, “It sounds like you can’t find him until he wants to be found.”

"Well, maybe he wants us to find him." Kirk said, grinning his dangerous smile at Bones. It was the one that said he didn't want the conversation to continue. It was a warning smile.

"Then maybe we shouldn't be looking." McCoy returned promptly, not backing down.

“Bones.” Kirk said sharply, snapping around to face him. “If you don’t have anything helpful to say, then maybe you’d like to start making dinner?”

There was dead silence. Kirk was an easy-going leader for the most part, he never really raised his voice at them, or pulled rank. If you really messed up, he told you, but he’d never said anything like that. It was condescending, snippy. Mean. He’d never punished someone for telling him the truth.

And he’d never in his life come at McCoy with that tone of voice. McCoy’s lips parted, and he stared at Jim like he’d never seen the kid before in his life. They all expected Kirk to take it back, or laugh, but he didn’t. His eyes stayed on McCoy with a stone cold certainty in his actions, and he said nothing.

McCoy’s chair screeched as he shoved it away from the table in the heist room and left without a word.

“So what do we know?” Kirk said as the door shut behind McCoy and locked.

For a moment there was another long silence. Kirk frowned. 

“Well?”

“Sir…” Scotty began hesitantly, “McCoy--”

“Did none of you get me any information while you were out?” Kirk crossed his arms and leaned back against the whiteboard. “Since you all seem to have forgotten: Pike is dead. Your old boss? He’s been murdered. Do I need to remind you what we are? We’re not a club. This isn’t Girl Scouts or the community soccer team. The Enterprise Crew is a fucking gang, and I expected you to burn the city to the ground to get the answers I wanted.”

They were all staring at him like he wasn’t who they thought he was. Maybe he wasn’t. 

Kirk felt like something was in his chest. It pushed his heart around, tightened his throat, and tried to rip him apart at the seams. He was going crazy, he needed something good to happen. He needed to find John Harrison now, or yesterday, or sooner than that.

He needed to feel that he wasn’t letting Pike down with every step he took.

“Harrison stopped by the Romulans first. Two months ago.” Uhura spoke up. She looked disappointed in the captain, even angry. Kirk told himself he didn’t care, and was lying. “The man I spoke to said he was the most terrifying man he’d ever met, and he claimed to have met Nero.”

Kirk had avoided Spock’s eye during the entire exchange, but now he turned to glance at him. Spock stared back, expressionless. “And?” Kirk prompted Uhura, because apparently Spock had nothing to say.

“The Romulans sent him to our building. According to them, they hadn’t seen him since.”

When Kirk raised an eyebrow, as if to ask if they were lying to her, it was Scotty who answered. “They were tellin’ the truth, sir. The Romulan was so scared o’ the lass he woulda pissed himself had he been human.”

“Rightly so, I’d say,” Kirk said, smiling softly at Uhura. Some of the tension in the room bled away, and she seemed to relax just a smidge. “So we know he went there, but that was two months ago.”

“The Klingons saw him a week ago, sir.” Sulu spoke up, “They said he was hanging around outside one of their strip clubs. Not creeping on the dancers or anything, but sitting there reading a PADD and staring into the distance.”

“A large group of them thought he was crazy, sir, and went to run him off.” Chekov picked up as soon as Sulu stopped speaking, “But he killed them. Sewenteen Klingons in total, sir.”

“Hoooo, you mean to tell me he took on seventeen Klingons by himself and  _ lived _ ?” Scotty shook his head, “No no no, no they musta exaggerated, laddie. That’s impossible for one man, that is.”

Chekov’s eyes narrowed. “He was not lying.”

Kirk hummed. “Alright, so they underestimated him and he got lucky. We won’t underestimate him.” He ignored Sulu’s doubtful look, and turned to the board behind him. A laminated map of the entire city was tacked up against the whiteboard.

Some parts of the map were still circled or crossed out from their last major heist. Kirk scrubbed them off, possibly ruining the elbow of his gold shirt and uncaring. “So do the Klingons know where he is now?”

“They claim he is not in their territory.” Chekov said, “They said they have no desire for an honorless man to reside near them.”

Kirk hummed, his eyes flicking over the dozens of bars and warehouses the gang of Klingons operated to the south of their building. He didn’t necessarily trust them, but if there was one thing the Klingons valued it was honor.

And clearly, this John Harrison did not have honor. “And the Romulans?” Kirk asked, instead of dwelling on that thought.

“They say they have not seen him since they sent him to us.” Uhura frowned at her nails, and pulled out a knife. She fixed the stiletto point of her thumb nail while speaking, “They thought we’d killed him two months ago. They seemed smug that we hadn’t.”

“So she left him with his hand stuck to the table, sir.” Scotty added, causing Kirk to grin. “It was my favorite screwdriver she used, too.”

“We’ll get you another,” Uhura promised, patting his thigh with the hand not holding the butterfly knife. Scotty didn’t look mad about the lost tool at all.

Kirk frowned at the map. If the Klingons and Romulans were to be trusted, that left a very narrow stretch of blocks between them where John Harrison could be hiding. Of course, gangs very rarely were to be trusted, but Kirk felt something in his gut that told him they were right. John Harrison wasn’t hiding out in their territory, he was somewhere else.

“Alright, so that leaves Main Street, and two blocks on either side of it.” Kirk drew his marker across the designated area, leaving a dark streak of bright, vivid read against the black and white map. “Shops close early these days. We’ll go right after dinner and find him.”

At the mention of dinner, the tension that had bled slowly from the room seemed to snap back into place. The lack of angry southern doctor in the room suddenly seemed very obvious and painful, like a finger missing from a hand.

“I want everyone to meet in my garage at 5:30. No later. If you aren’t there, we’re leaving without you and you can be damn sure that I’ll be pissed as fuck when I come back.”

Usually, such a warning was met with affectionate eye-rolls and sighs. Today it was met with silence, and everyone avoided Kirk’s gaze. “You’re all dismissed.”

They left the room almost silently, except for Scotty mumbling and shaking his head.

“Sir.”

Spock was usually one of the first to leave. The Crew always needed his help with something, be it fixing a problem in one of their homemade grenades, or rewiring the air conditioner to work better while Scotty was busy. If Kirk and him had plans, Spock usually stayed, but Kirk was absolutely sure that they didn’t.

“Yes, Spock?” He asked, turning back to look at him. If he had to guess, he’d say Spock was going to tell him to be careful, or that they should go together, or something else Kirk already knew.

He was not expecting “Sir, I believe you to be emotionally compromised and therefore unstable for the job tonight.”

He was so shocked he stared at Spock blankly for a moment, not understanding his words. Finally, he managed, “ _ What _ ?”

“Last night I found you drinking yourself to the point of being nearly incoherent--” Spock began, but Kirk interrupted quickly.

“That’s normal for me, Spock. A lot of people get drunk when someone they loved dies. It’s not exactly a healthy habit, I guess, but us humans are just so very illogical. I thought you knew that.” 

Spock was not finished. He acknowledged Kirk’s point with a tilt of his head, but kept speaking. “Doctor McCoy is your closest companion. Some may argue that you are closer to him than you are to me.” Kirk watched in shock as Spock’s lips turned down the faintest amount as he spoke. “Your dismissal of him was out of character for you.”

Kirk’s lips thinned. “Spock.”

“It was also unnecessary. Logically, you should desire to present a unified front--”

“Spock.” Kirk said, a little firmer. 

“-- and as the three most senior members of this organization, the front should consist of Dr. McCoy, yourself, and--”

“Spock, enough.” Kirk’s voice raised just slightly, so that his commanding tone could slice through the seemingly prepared speech Spock was giving him. Spock seemed reluctant, but he stopped talking, shutting his mouth. He met Kirk’s gaze unflinchingly, and Kirk once again appreciated that he had Spock.

“I know what I did seemed… crazy.” He said slowly. Spock opened his mouth to speak again but Kirk glared. “I know. I felt bad as soon as I said it. But I couldn’t take it back in front of the others.” He sighed, raking a hand through his hair. There was a stain of green marker on his elbow where he’d scrubbed off the dried marker from the board, and now with his hair fluffed up he looked more human. Spock hadn’t realized Kirk had looked anything else but human until that moment, but before, he’d looked untouchable.

“Look, Spock. You don’t know very well because you came in right at the end of Pike’s run as leader here. But things used to be different. When I became leader I changed the whole dynamic of this thing. I let everyone cozy up.” Kirk bit his lip, “I let people get relaxed. They see this as more of a family than a gang.”

“Sir…” Spock began, but he didn’t know what to say that wouldn’t be outrageously inappropriate and emotional for a Vulcan.

“Don’t get me wrong, Spock. I love them. They  _ are  _ my family. But I also can’t let them get comfortable… or else someone else could wind up like Pike.” Kirk sighed again, pinching the bridge of his nose, and Spock watched as his hand rose without him telling it to, and touched Kirk’s jaw where it was tense, as though trying to smooth the clenched muscle there.

Kirk looked at him in surprise, and Spock dropped his hand, stepping back. “Of course, sir. Your reasons are most logical. However…” He hadn’t realized he was going to say ‘however’ until he’d said it. He wondered when Kirk had managed to make his control so fragile. “I am most certain that all of us are competent enough to realize that this is not, as you say, ‘Girl Scouts’. We are aware of the danger and choose to stay regardless.”

Kirk shifted slightly on his feet, still looking at Spock with an odd emotion on his face. “I guess you’re right, Spock. I just -- I don’t want Pike’s gang to fall apart because of what I did to it.”

Spock straightened even further, tucking his hands behind his back in his customary position. “On the contrary, every aspect of output from this gang has increased in productivity. Our monetary income alone has increased by a percentage of roughly 45.23--”

“Damn, Spock, you sure know how to sweet talk a gang leader.” Kirk clapped a hand to his shoulder, grinning. “Alright, alright. Let’s go.”

Spock nodded, stepping aside so that Kirk could go first.

“And just for the record, I was going to apologize to Bones anyways. But thank you.” Kirk looked back over his shoulder with an expression Spock could not recognize.

Humans were usually so easy to read, but Kirk was so emotive that sometimes Spock found he did not know what to think.

 

**5:12 PM // The Enterprise Building**

 

Kirk waited until after dinner to approach McCoy. Spock wasn’t sure why, as waiting made for a tense, almost silent dinner among those at the table. Though Spock was immune to feeling awkward about a situation (what a load of bullshit that was, he could sense the awkward like an overfed sehlat in the room), it was clear that Kirk and McCoy were uncomfortable, and Chekov seemed ready to throw himself out the window.

If Spock were less Vulcan, he would feel annoyed that Kirk didn’t remedy the situation straight away. McCoy’s dinner nights were one of Spock’s favorites. On nights McCoy was cooking, Spock knew he would have something to eat. Often when the others cooked (or, in Scotty’s case, ordered pizza) Spock would make something for himself to save others the trouble of having to prepare something separate for him.

Although he’d never asked, McCoy always made something for them all that even Spock liked to eat. Tonight, they were eating a pasta with a vegetable sauce. It was richer than most Vulcan food, but not by much, and Spock enjoyed it.

He noticed that despite McCoy’s obvious hard work on the food, nobody else seemed in any hurry to eat. Spock was aware that grief could cause a loss of appetite, but he suspected it was more likely that none of those present felt up to eating when the tension in the air was, as the humans said, “able to be cut with a knife.”

Eventually, though, dinner ended and the room emptied as the individual Crew members separated to make preparations for scouring the town that night. Kirk remained behind, so Spock did as well, moving to assist McCoy with the dishes.

“Bones.” Kirk said, his voice softer and more hesitant than it had been all night. Spock watched McCoy’s jaw tick as he set the dish he was scrubbing down harder than necessary.

Spock took over cleaning while McCoy was pulled a small distance away to talk to Kirk. They lowered their voices, but Spock was Vulcan. He heard every word.

“I wanted to apologize.” Kirk said softly, his hand gripping McCoy’s sleeve. 

“For what, Jim?” McCoy asked, sharp and cutting. Spock knew then that he was hurt, not angry. “For sending me out like a kindergartner, or some kind of butt to the the world’s worst “get back in the kitchen” joke, or for making us sit through that godawful dinner while you sat on your apology?”

Spock heard Kirk inhale and exhale slowly. He set the last of the plates to the side to dry, but remained where he was, shaking soap from his hands.

“Um, both? Listen, Bones, I feel bad about it, I do. But you were bringing down morale. And you know how much I hate being told something is impossible. No no-win scenarios, right?” Kirk was making an attempt at humor. Spock was not sure it would help the situation, but wisely did not intervene, instead quietly getting a towel to dry off the plates before they dried with spots.

“I was tellin’ you my opinion, kid. Before today, you used to be grateful for it.” McCoy sighed, and when he next spoke it was like all the fight had gone out of him. “I don’t know if we can handle this guy, Jim. Especially not with you the way you’re acting. You’re tensed up tighter than a banjo string on a guitar.”

“We can do it, Bones. We have to. Think of what happens if we show that you can get away with killing one of us without us retaliating. People will be here bombing our door before you know it.” Kirk sounded stressed and upset, not at all like he had when he’d promised Spock he’d be okay.

Spock did not experience jealousy, as it was a human emotion.

“I know you and Spock are geniuses and partners in crime, but the rest of us ain’t idiots either.” Spock frowned slightly, but Bones did not sound as irritated as before, which meant he had already forgiven Kirk. “I am a doctor, Jim. And you’re not doing well. Grief and sleep deprivation is kicking you all over the place.”

“I’m fine, Bones. I swear. Cross my heart.” Spock turned, suspecting the conversation to be near completion, and watched Kirk draw an ‘x’ over a rough approximation of where his heart would be. “Ready to head out then, Spock?”

“I am ready to depart whenever you are sufficiently prepared, sir.” Spock said amicably. 

“That was too many syllables for one sentence, hobgoblin.” Bones muttered. He sighed as he fetched his jacket from the back of a dining chair. “Let’s go before you two start playin’ verbal  _ Scrabble _ .”

Kirk grinned and led the way out the doors. They paused by his room so he could switch out his marker-stained shirt for another, almost identical one with silver buttons. He grabbed two holsters, strapping the first under his arm before he tossed Bones the extra. Spock already had two holsters, one on his thigh and the other resting on his hip. Each had a gun within them as well.

Once upon a time, Spock had been like other Vulcans. Violence was unnecessary and to be used only as a last resort. He kept to the Vulcan teachings in many ways: he meditated, he ate no food that a creature had suffered to make. But now, although he did not actively seek out fights, violence was something he rarely flinched at. So much had changed in four short years.

McCoy grumbled something about guns and their impossibility to be predicted, but strapped the holster on nonetheless, and then all three of them stood in silence as the elevator dropped to the ground floor. 

The doors opened and Kirk led the way down the long hallway. Spock and McCoy flanked him to either side, their footsteps perfectly in sync without trying. They made it to the end, where the first floor entrance to Kirk’s garage was. He typed in the code next to the heavy steel entrance, and the trio walked inside as the doors hissed open.

Kirk’s garage had three floors in total, and was by far the largest room in the house. Even Scotty’s engineering work labs were not as spacious as Kirk’s garages, and that was simply because Kirk loved his cars more than he loved fancy guns or shiny security cameras. And Kirk had a lot of cars.

The others were waiting for them inside, standing at the center of the room. When they heard McCoy and Kirk cracking jokes as they approached, they all seemed to relax a bit. Spock stayed silent at Kirk’s side as Kirk gave one more quick run-through of the plan. They all had their earpieces on, and were to report as often as they felt necessary. If they found John Harrison, they were not to engage unless they had a perfect shot, and under no circumstances were they to approach him alone. 

They split up then, getting in various vehicles. Kirk stopped them all one more time, grinning. “I don’t want a scratch on any of my babies, alright?”

Scotty sighed and lovingly brushed his hand across the silver adder Sulu had been driving to escape the cops. “I’d never put so much as a wee chip in her, sir.” He climbed into the driver’s seat, and then promptly climbed back out to take the passenger seat when Uhura tapped her freshly filed nails against the windshield.

Kirk checked them all over discreetly as he settled onto the seat of his favorite old bike. Uhura had her big purse with her, which meant that besides the cleverly concealed knives on her thighs (hidden beneath the miniskirt of her dress, a dress which also managed to hide that she wore mostly bulletproof body armor underneath), she had a good size pistol with her as well. Scotty had his baggy cargo pants on, which probably meant C4, which when in Scotty’s hands was a terrible idea.

Sulu had his sword, folded and tucked in its sheath so it looked like a square fanny pack against the base of his spine. His shades were on, and he had his gold gun showing proudly against his hip. He always did like the flashy weapons. Chekov had his knives in the sleeves of his bright yellow hoodie, not to mention what else, but he did look slightly outclassed by Sulu with the way he was dressed.

Kirk didn’t care what they wore now, as long as it didn’t all come back stained with their blood.

Bones was settling into Kirk’s old red convertible, the only one besides Sulu and Kirk who still knew how to drive a manual. He was going to leave after the rest of them had been gone for a while, so that he didn’t look to be a part of the group and was still close enough if they needed medical attention immediately.

Kirk was looking for Spock when the bike swayed slightly between his thighs. He looked over his shoulder in surprise to see Spock settling down behind him. “Spock? What are you doing?”

Spock raised an eyebrow. “I am not allowing you to head into this fight alone.”

Kirk shrugged, fighting back a grin. Trust Spock to always surprise him, while being completely predictable. “I mean, I don’t mind. But, you know, they call what you’re doing--"

“‘Riding bitch’.” Spock said dryly, causing Kirk to nearly inhale his tongue. “I am aware of the phrase.”

Kirk coughed, willing down his reddened face until Sulu and Chekov whipped past him in his bright gold Osirus. 

“Subtle, guys, real subtle.” He muttered, kicking the kickstand up. “Hold on, Spock.”

“I am holding on.” Spock said, and Kirk glanced back to see he was gripping the back of the motorcycle lightly. 

“To  _ me,  _ dummy. That way you’ll lean the way I lean. Just -- it’s easier that way.” Bones was snorting and laughing at him. He could feel it even without turning around. They were the last ones left, Uhura and Scotty no doubt leaving while Kirk was having a minor asthma attack over Spock saying the word “bitch”.

Spock touched his hands to Kirk’s hips, loosely, and Kirk grinned. He pushed off and hit the gas and the bike shot forward. Spock’s grip was suddenly much tighter.

“Easy, Spock, easy. I won’t let you fall.” Kirk promised, not even sure Spock could hear him over the wind whipping by.

“Should you not be wearing a helmet?” Spock asked, his breath fanning over Kirk’s ear so warm that Kirk nearly wrapped them around a light pole. He played it off with a neat jump over the curb and shrugged, hoping Spock would believe the flush on his cheeks was from the wind.

“We don’t exactly play by the rules, Spock.”

Spock hummed, and his grip on Kirk’s hips didn’t loosen. Kirk would probably have bruises.

He’d imagined having bruises in the shape of Spock’s hands there before, of course, but this wasn’t exactly how he imagined getting them.

They wove through traffic, passing Uhura at one point and slowing only once they neared Main Street. He parked the bike close to the curb, and trusted that the Enterprise emblem, spray painted in bright fucking gold across the front, would ward off any potential thieves.

Main Street was where most of the shops were, so it was always kind of crowded. But now the dinner crowd was dying down enough that Kirk could easily identify every person that walked by. A pretty Orion girl walked by, and he smiled charmingly. She flushed, and tripped over her seven inch heels.

“ _ Sir. _ ” Kirk wasn’t sure how Spock always managed to put that much condescension and disapproval in a single-syllable, monotone word, but he ducked his head anyways.

“Can’t blame a guy for looking, Spock.” Kirk tried, but Spock did not look impressed.

“I am most certain that she was not John Harrison.”

Kirk straightened up and nodded. “You’re right. Sorry.” Spock inclined his head.

They walked down the street together, sleeves brushing every so often. This was a cleaner part of town than where they usually shopped. There weren’t gun and ammunition shops, or printing stores that would sell you fake IDs if you knew the right words to say (not that Kirk went to those printing shops. Scotty made all their fake IDs.) Instead, the street was filled with coffee shops and little fashion boutiques. There used to be a theatre on the street corner. Kirk had once taken Spock there to see _ Romeo and Juliet _ , but that had been before they’d sent  Cupcake Giotto to burn it down when they heard that the owner was beating the shit out of his actresses.

There were still scorch marks on the sidewalk, but the building had been renovated and turned into a dance studio. Inside, through the glass, Jim could see several female Orions, and even a short Tellarite girl learning ballet. There was no sign of anyone missing the man that had owned the theatre, which was good, because they’d never find him.

They’d burned his body and fed his bones to pigs on Pike’s farm.

It was interesting how the city adapted.

“They said he was big. Like, tall and broad-shouldered. Deep voice, intimidating just to look at,” Kirk reminded Spock, just for something to say. “Dark hair, but that could have changed. Long face, hazel eyes.”

Spock met Kirk’s eyes and said nothing, but that was probably more than enough. Spock had eidetic memory. Kirk stopped talking.

They walked up one side of the street, and then down another. Kirk played the part of a wandering shopper. Spock played the part of Spock, because getting him to do much else required too much effort.

Every once and awhile, one of the others would chime in through the earpiece, checking in. Once, Chekov had excitedly reported that he might see a man that fit Kirk’s description, but it turned out to be a large Klingon woman. After that, Chekov went quiet for a little while, but Sulu assured him they were both fine.

The shops started to close as the sun went down. Better part of town or not, shops in this city knew better than to stay open after dark. 

Kirk and Spock had taken a seat outside the cafe on the corner of the street that was theirs to keep an eye on. Kirk was nursing a sugary latte so as not to bring suspicion on them for lurking around the shop. Spock sat across from him, carefully watching everything over Kirk’s shoulder while Kirk did the same for him. They did it without telling each other to; always conscious of the other and watching each other's backs.

_ “Sir!”  _ Scotty’s voice crackled through the earpiece like he was holding the microphone directly against his mouth. It was so loud Kirk flinched, and Spock’s eyebrow twitched.  _ “Sir! He’s got Uhura! Get your filthy hands off of her, ye murderin’ scumbag! I’ll rip your ballsack off, I will!” _

Kirk left his latte on the table and took off, Spock at his shoulder. “Where are you, Scotty?” Kirk asked, but he looked at Spock, directed the question at him so that the passing people didn’t stare too much.

There were sounds of fighting. Scotty let loose a long string of curses, some of which even Kirk had never heard. Sulu and Chekov started demanding coordinates or at least a street name as well, sounding out of breath like they were running. He and Spock quickened their pace, but with nowhere to go they reached the end of their street and stood there, shifting from foot to foot. Or, Kirk shifted. Spock stood stock still.

“Talk to me, Scotty.” Kirk said, leaning against Spock when a couple went by and looked at him strangely. Spock allowed the touching, and when the couple passed Kirk didn’t immediately pull away. There was something calming about Spock.

Finally, a wet sounding cough erupted in their ear. “ _ Second street! Midway down, by the--”  _ abruptly, there was a sharp screech that meant Scotty’s earpiece had been crushed.

Spock took Kirk by the arm and pulled, keeping him from being crushed by a car as he tried to run out into the street. They were right next to the motorcycle, so Kirk jumped on that instead, steadying them as Spock swung his leg over. There was no hesitation this time, and Spock grabbed on as Kirk gunned it, nearly mowing a grumpy old man over as he blasted out of his parking place and down the street.

They swerved onto Second Street and had to ditch the bike. People were running, screaming and pushing each other. Kirk and Spock dodged through them, Spock acting like a physical wall between Kirk and anyone in his way. A woman slammed straight into Spock and went down, but they didn’t even pause.

Uhura was being attacked by the same man that had killed Pike. They had no time to worry about other people.

They found Scotty and Uhura on the other side of the crowd that was fleeing. Kirk saw Scotty first, slumped against the metal trash can outside the shop. He was unconscious or close to it, blood trickling down from his hairline.

Then his eyes saw Uhura, and his stomach dropped. Uhura was being lifted into the air by her throat. Her feet kicked wildly, but even her sharp heels didn’t seem to bother the man holding her up. 

Objectively, the man wasn’t all that tall. Maybe a few inches taller than Kirk, but not a giant. And yet, he seemed capable of strength none of them possessed. His hair was still dark, short but long enough to flop over his eyes, which were focused solely on Uhura in a rage that twisted his face into something terrifying.

Kirk pulled his gun and fired without warning, aiming for John Harrison. Unfortunately, just as he pulled the trigger Harrison must have seen him. Uhura took the bullet to the back of her calf and tried to scream, what little air she had left in her lungs expelled in a grisly gasp. 

Her eyes bugged, bloodshot, and her face was turning purple beneath her dark skin. Blood was staining the back of her shoe.

Harrison threw Uhura aside like she was a ragdoll and lunged towards them in one fluid movement. Kirk hit the pavement hard, head cracking against cement. He saw stars briefly flaring up in front of a tear-streaked face that belonged to Harrison, but the weight on him was only there for a second. In the next, Spock had his hand wrapped tightly in the back of Harrison’s hair, the other holding a gun. 

In any other circumstance, Kirk would make a teasing remark about Spock pulling hair, but now it was too serious. Spock fired a shot at Harrison’s head, and somehow missed. It took Kirk a second to see through the spots in his vision, but it appeared Harrison had grabbed Spock’s wrist, the one holding the gun, and pushed it away from him. 

Kirk hadn’t ever witnessed Spock lose an arm wrestling match. Once, a long time ago, he’d put enough chocolate in Spock for Spock to accept the challenges of the crew members to arm wrestle him. He’d worn gloves at the time, the black leather ones Kirk really liked but refused to think about, and had slammed each and every hand of the crew against wood so hard the table had been wobbly after. 

But tonight, he didn’t seem to be winning with the same ease. It was an awkward angle, pulling his arm back towards himself, and Harrison had the benefit of simply being able to push it away. Spock kept his composure the entire time, but he sent Kirk a look that clearly meant he was shocked. 

Kirk blinked the concussion form his eyes and snatched his own gun back up, aiming right at Harrison’s face. The blood would splatter all over Spock, and Spock hated being filthy, but he didn't care. The bastard was right there. The barrel of the gun was still warm from the last shot, and Kirk knew how to shoot. He knew that he wouldn't miss. His fingers slipped around the trigger and he pulled.

“Kirk!” Chekov suddenly cried, appearing in Kirk’s line of sight over Harrison’s shoulder. “There’s a --”

He didn’t get to finish, because the wall of the china store they were fighting in front of exploded outwards, knocking them all to the ground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, first off, lemme just tell ya'll. I am so, so amazed by the way this fic has been received. All your kind words and praise and everything I'm just. I love each and every one of you who commented. Thank you so, so much.
> 
> Second, as some of you may have noticed, this fic has some scenes taken practically right out of Into Darkness. That was intentional. But this fic is not just a gang!au rewrite of Into Darkness. There are a lot of twists and turns, and things that didn't happen in that movie are going to happen in this fic.
> 
> Third, I'm going to again reiterate that ya'll are killing me in a good way by commenting and leaving kudos. I'm cry. Ya'll are one of the reasons I keep writing.


	5. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the aftermath of the explosion, Kirk needs to find his family and the bastard who hurt them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter gets really dark, really fast.
> 
> warnings: explicit violence, explicitly described injuries, character death (none of the main crew), mention of different medicines (mainly painkillers), and very dark!kirk and spock.

**Five Days Before // 7:20 PM // Second Street, San Francisco**

 

Kirk was getting really tired of being blown up. 

It used to be a less than daily occurrence. In fact, it used to be a rare event. This week seemed determined to throw him around the city on billows of fire and force.

“Shit…” he groaned. He managed to get to his hands and knees, heaving himself into a crawling position. His ears rang with the high-pitched squeal that came from explosions, and something in his left hand was broken, he thought, but he wasn’t sure. His vision was still blurry and spotted. If he hadn’t had a concussion before, he definitely had one now.

Whatever caused that explosion had a bigger detonator than the one in Apollo’s building had. He had been thrown clear across the street. He'd stopped only when he hit brick, which explained why his shoulder was dislocated and everything hurt. His shirt was in shreds, and there looked to be more black and red than gold at this point.

Through the spots in his eyes he saw that the china shop was nearly completely gone. Ceramic pieces and glass littered the road like blades, and some had even impaled cars. He closed his eyes. He wasn’t a religious man, hadn’t been since he was little, but just then he squeezed his eyes shut tighter and prayed his Crew was okay before speaking out loud.

“Report.”

There was no answer.

“Enterprise, report.”

It took Kirk a minute to realize the explosion had also apparently had an electromagnetic pulse of some kind, and his earpiece was useless. He pulled it out with his good hand and crushed it between his fingers in a short-lived release of anger, hissing as it sparked against his road burned fingers.

Panic started to build in his chest and he barely managed to hold it down. Now was not the time to curl up and suffocate in a panic attack. He had to find his Crew.

He staggered to his feet. The street was decimated. The buildings on either side of the china shop were damaged to the point that they were probably going to need to be torn down. Kirk was bleeding from cuts and scrapes all over, but he was still faring better than some of the civilians that had been caught in the blast. His kevlar chest piece had protected his major organs from anything but hard bruising.

“Spock!” Kirk called, stumbling into the street. His dislocated shoulder made his left arm hang uselessly. He could hear sirens fast approaching, and they needed to be gone before then. “Uhura!”

There was a groan of answer from somewhere to his left, and he limped that way. It was Uhura, bloody but in one piece. She sat up and Kirk once again watched her wipe blood away as it smeared down her cheek. Her leg was still bleeding from the bullet wound, and there were small pieces of ceramic stuck in her hands and back when she sat up. She looked dazed for a moment before her eyes focused on Kirk and she turned her head to face him. There was a bruise in the shape of fingers starting to darken around her throat.

“I’m fine. Where are the others?” She asked it through a swollen lip. Kirk couldn’t tell what was blood and what was her favorite lipstick. 

Kirk loved her. He loved her so much, his knees felt weak.

“Haven’t found them,” he said, “Can you stand?”

She could, but walking was nearly impossible. She’d lost one shoe in the blast, and threw the other halfway down the street in a fit of anger. With the bullet wound in her leg and shards of glass and ceramic all over the street, walking would be too difficult. “Go find the others. I can make it to that bench over there. We don’t have much time before all the cops and emergency workers get here, but there’s if there’s phone in that bag there, I can hold them off.”

Kirk did as she said, because she was right.

While she tugged an old cell phone from a discarded backpack, Kirk limped through the rest of the wreckage.

“Sir!” Sulu’s voice called, and Kirk whipped around so fast he nearly fell right over. His brain was not ready for intense movement. Sulu was standing on the other side of a tire shop, looking significantly less bruised and injured than the rest of them. Chekov was with him, sporting a bloody cheekbone but little else in terms of injury. Kirk could have had a heart attack.

“Help me find the others! We have to get out of here, fast!” 

With Sulu and Chekov, Kirk soon located the others. Bones was unconscious in the driver’s seat of Kirk’s convertible, which had flipped over in the explosion. Kirk hadn’t seen him, but Bones must have been close for the entire car to flip over.

Kirk pulled him out, while Chekov and Sulu pulled Scotty out of the mangled remains of a trash can. They reported him alive, but he looked too still. Kirk was terrified, and sick.

Bones woke up sometime between Kirk grabbing him under the armpits and removing him from the shattered window. He cursed explicitly and crawled out from under the car on his own, dusting off his scrubs and leaving smears of red against the blue. “Dammit all to hell, Jim, what the fuck? Bombs? Again?”

Kirk shook his head, and swayed because of it. Bones grabbed his shoulders to steady him, swapping irritated for stormy worry instantly. “That’s a lotta blood comin’ from your head… You should sit down.”

“Spock.” Kirk slurred, “Gotta find Spock.”

“We’ll find him, Jim, but you need to--”

Kirk swallowed down a wave of nausea and closed his eyes for a minute. When he opened them again, everything still hurt, but he was slightly steadier. He  _ had  _ to find Spock. “Let go, Bones. Let me find Spock, and then you can stitch us all up, okay? But I’m not sitting down until we find him.”

Kirk stumbled back to the exploded shop, Bones close on his heels with painkillers rattling in his pockets and syringes in his backpack, which had miraculously survived the blast. He set upon digging through the rubble with one hand, the other useless because of his dislocated shoulder. With his eyes slightly clearer now, he saw that his left pinky and ring finger were absolutely broken, bent crookedly to the left. It didn’t matter. 

He sent Bones away to search the shop next door, claiming it would go faster. He wasn’t lying, but he also didn’t want Bones to see the panic that was rising in Kirk’s chest reflected in his eyes. Not again. He was doing the exact same thing he’d done yesterday. He was risking his Crew for Spock, again.

He was seconds away from vomiting, and a minute away from telling the Crew to get out of here, when Chekov called out several Russian curses, and then made a loud noise that sounded like a happy cry.

Kirk lurched outside before he remembered moving. He spotted Spock, limping around a building clutching at his side, and then Kirk threw up. 

When he straightened back up, it was to see Spock leaning on the bench behind Uhura, shaking his head at something she said. He looked healthy, for the most part. His hair was ruffled and dusted gray, and there were spots of green across his arms and legs, but those were just scratches. Kirk’s stomach began to settle.

Spock was fine. Bones was fine. Scotty looked the worst for wear, but Chekov said he was alive.

“Spock!” He called, smiling. His mouth tasted like vomit and blood, which was not good, but he didn’t care. Relief overflowed everything.

Then a black emptiness flooded through even that, and he was unconscious before he even recognized that he was falling.

 

**Four Days Before // 3:03 AM // Enterprise Medical Room**

 

Kirk woke up the first time and didn’t open his eyes. It would take too much effort. He felt like there was wet cotton filling his head and he had to empty it all out by opening his eyes, but that seemed so hard. 

Someone was touching his hand, stroking along his fingers with all the pressure of a feather, like they were worried they weren’t allowed to touch him.

He fell back into unconsciousness before he could open his eyes and find out who it was.

 

**5:11 AM**

 

When Kirk did finally wake up enough to make sense of his surroundings, nothing hurt. He figured that was just for the moment, because he sensed that McCoy had lessened the painkillers enough that he’d be feeling it soon, if it meant he’d woken up.

Spock was seated beside him reading a PADD. He was dressed the same way he had been yesterday, and there was still green blood flecked across his sleeves and staining his collar. In fact, the only thing about him that appeared to have been washed were his hands. Kirk watched him for a moment, mouth too dry to speak and painkillers making him feel like he was floating. Spock looked up slowly, his eyes meeting Kirk’s.

Kirk understood then, why people told Spock his eyes were too human to be fully Vulcan.

Spock was pissed.

“How do you feel?” He asked, voice perfectly controlled. Kirk wasn’t fooled.

“I’m fine, Spock. I swear. You’re not though. Why are you angry?” Kirk suddenly wondered if Spock had realized how shitty Kirk had done as leader this week, and was about to replace him. The painkillers were falling away fast, and without the haze he could hear his heart monitor start speeding up as he swallowed, looking at Spock. “Are you… you’re not mad at me, right?”

Spock’s eyes flicked to the monitor and softened. Kirk had never been able to notice how much more vulnerable Spock looked around him, how emotive. Had anyone else been present, they wouldn’t have noticed the change, he thought. “No, Jim. I am not angry at you.” 

He did not deny the anger. 

“But you’re clearly in like, full-on rage mode.” Kirk sat up, and was surprised that it didn’t hurt nearly as much as he thought it would. “Talk to me, Spock.”

Spock made an aborted movement, like he wanted to push Kirk back down but didn’t know if that would be worse than allowing him to sit up. “The china shop--”

“Exploded, right, I know that.” Kirk felt his own anger start to bubble up. “And that Harrison bastard fucking disappeared like a ghost.”

“No.” Spock said, mouth twisted the barest amount. If he were anyone else, the words would be spitting out and he’d be fuming. “He did not disappear. In fact, he is below us in our most durable prison at this moment. Dr. McCoy departed to administer another tranquilizer moments before you woke up.”

Kirk stared. “What?” When it looked like Spock was about to repeat what he’d just said, Kirk waved his hand. He was delighted to see his fingers were no longer broken. McCoy must have finally used the regenerator they’d nicked from Starfleet two months ago. “Start at the beginning, Spock.”

“When I awoke, John Harrison had his hands around my throat, and was attempting to force my head back onto a broken window. Had he succeeded, I would have been paralyzed at the least, but most likely dead.” Spock said this all without concern, just stating facts. Kirk’s hands shook. “However, I regained consciousness. He seemed surprised, and I was given the opportunity to dislodge his hands and get him off of me. I administered the Vulcan nerve pinch, but it did not render him unconscious. It seemed to slow him but for a moment.”

“Holy shit, Spock.” Kirk ran a hand down his face.

“I attempted to shoot him again, with the spare gun you insisted I carry. I caught his shoulder, and that slowed him enough that I managed to… render him unconscious in another way.” Spock said this all smoothly, apparently unconcerned, but Kirk knew him better. 

“How? How’d you finally knock the bastard out?”

“I… hit him across the back of the skull with a stop sign.” Spock pressed his lips together as Kirk started laughing. 

Once he’d started, Kirk couldn’t stop. He imagined Spock, serene and impassive as always, ripping a stop sign straight out of the ground and slamming it across the back of an apparent super-human’s head. Tears leaked from his eyes and he reached out, grabbing Spock’s shoulder as he slumped over his knees. “Holy shit, Spock, I want to see that. I’m going to tell Chekov to hack every camera on that street until I find one that captured the moment, and then I’m going to make a copy for myself.” 

“Of course, Jim.” Spock said, in what was as close to a sigh as Kirk was going to hear from him. 

“Alright, so you knocked him out and he’s locked up here.” Kirk's eyes flicked across Spock's face in concern.  "So why are you upset, then?"

"Because I did not kill him for hurting you." Spock said.

“No, you did the right thing." Kirk wondered if Spock could tell how soft Kirk’s eyes went in that moment as he looked at Spock. "What would I do without you, Spock?”

Spock opened his mouth like he was going to say more, but at that moment McCoy walked in and saw Jim awake, and not only awake, but sitting up.

“Oh, good. About time you got your princess ass out of bed. Uhura had a chipped fibula and she was still out of here before midnight. You’re getting lazy.” Even as he berated Kirk, McCoy stalked over and peered at his heart monitor and charts critically, checking Kirk over one more time. “You’re lucky you and Sulu stole that voodoo machine from Starfleet, Jim, or else you’d be here another day at least. You had one hell of a concussion, and your shoulder was torn to shit from you wandering around with it dislocated like an idiot.”

“I love you too, Bones.” Kirk said, grinning at the doctor. “Thanks for fixing me up.”

Bones rolled his eyes, and Kirk looked between him and Spock, allowed his mind to catch up with the fact that they were both alive, and healthy, and safe. Then he bit his cheek. “What about Scotty? Is he--”

“He’s restin’ in his room. Four broken ribs, a concussion even worse than the one you had, a broken knee, and a broken wrist from tryin’ to punch that Harrison bastard.” Bones sighed heavily, “He’ll live, but I sure ain’t happy that the guy who did it to him is only a floor below us.”

Kirk cracked his newly fixed knuckles, flexing his hands to get the feeling back in them. The morphine -- it had to be morphine, he felt too drugged for it to have been anything else they had down here -- was finally dissipating from his limbs. “I want to talk to him.”

“No.” McCoy and Spock said immediately. Kirk blinked in surprise -- the two of them rarely agreed on anything.

“I’m sorry -- what?” Kirk raised both eyebrows, staring at them both.

“The only reason we’re even managing to keep him here is because I’ve got him pumped full of enough sedatives to slow down a fucking elephant, Jim. There’s no way I’m waking him up so you can talk to him.” McCoy lifted his chin and jerked his head towards Spock. “I bet your boyfriend agrees with me.”

“While I am not Jim’s _boyfriend_ ,” Spock said slowly, staring impassively at McCoy and using the voice he used if he was talking to a particularly slow member of the crew, “I find myself in the rare circumstance of agreement with the doctor.”

McCoy scowled at the tone, but shot Kirk a look anyways. “See? If we’re agreeing, you know we’re right.”

Kirk kicked off the blankets, sitting up further. He reached for the IV drip in the crook of his arm and Bones suddenly had a needle in his hand. “Don’t you dare stick me with that, Bones, I mean it.” Kirk held up his hand, as though he could ward Bones off like an animal.  “There’s no point keeping him here unconscious. If you’re not going to let me talk to him, what’re you waiting for? Kill him while he’s out.” 

Kirk kept one eye on Bones as he tugged the IV out. He hissed, and Bones rolled his eyes, slapping gauze on the tiny pinpricks of blood with slightly more force than necessary.

“I would have thought you would desire to end his life yourself.” Spock said after a moment of silence where neither of them looked at him. Spock didn’t look at him as he said it, either, staring at the wall.

Kirk looked at the Vulcan that he’d ruined and grinned. Free of the IV, he swung his legs out of the bed, poking Spock in the knee with his toes. “You always did know how to spoil me, Spock.”

Bones snorted on his other side, and Kirk glanced over his shoulder to glare at him. Bones didn’t look like he was very intimidated by the look. “Your clothes are on that table over there. Don’t walk around my medical wing with your ass hanging out, nobody wants to see that.”

“Everybody wants to see that.” Kirk retorted, but it was too cold on the hospital floor for him to make a point of not putting on clothes other than the hospital gown Bones had tied around his neck.

Kirk got dressed as Spock politely waited outside. He was buttoning up his black jeans when Bones gave him one more jab to the throat with a needle, sending him reeling and clutching at the puncture. Bones slapped a My Little Pony band-aid across it without waiting for him to start complaining.

“It’s an adrenaline boost. The morphine wore off, but you’re probably gonna get real sleepy soon, Jim.” Bones hesitated, and then clapped Jim on the shoulder. “Don’t go see him alone, alright?”

Kirk sighed, reaching up and squeezing the back of McCoy’s neck affectionately. “I’m not gonna get myself killed, Bones.” He smirked a little, but it was soft around the edges. “I can’t leave you here all alone with Spock. You two would kill each other, and then the whole gang would fall apart.”

“I wouldn’t  _ kill  _ him,” Bones said, turning up his nose. “I mean, maiming maybe, but never  _ kill _ …” He grinned suddenly, a sharp humor in the curl of his mouth that had Kirk releasing his neck. “Besides, I feel like you’d find a way to haunt my ass if I even so much as nicked his pointy little ears.”

“If I die, I’m haunting your ass anyways. You're the best doctor in the whole wide world. If I die I expect you to bring me back.” Kirk laughed, and with a final shake of his shoulder Bones let him go.

Spock raised an eyebrow as he finally came out. “Were you having trouble getting dressed, sir?”

“What? No, Bones wanted to --” Kirk saw Spock’s eyebrow inch higher and shook his head, grinning. “Ha ha, Spock, you’re such a jokester.”

“Of course,” Spock agreed, falling into step with Kirk as he headed for the elevator. The ride down was spent with Spock recounting what Kirk had missed while he slept. It wasn’t much. They’d gotten back piled into the silver Adder, which was the only vehicle that had survived the explosion completely undamaged. 

Uhura, Scotty, and Kirk had immediately been taken to medical. Bones had called ahead and Chapel had a whole squad of people ready to help fix everyone up. Uhura had been the first released, simply because she refused to sit around after they’d pulled the bullet out of the back of her leg and stitched her up.

Scotty was, like Bones had said, taking it easy in his room. Spock assured Kirk that Chekov had been sent to amuse him, so Scotty didn’t wind up with another experiment that would only cause trouble.

Sulu had gone back and cleaned up the evidence they’d left behind as well as could be expected when they’d left blood everywhere. He’d also brought back Kirk’s bike, which had a busted front tire but was otherwise in pretty good shape, and was working on getting Kirk’s convertible out of the impound lot.

Basically, everyone continued functioning. Kirk wasn’t sure why he’d been nervous about anything different. They were the best in the country for a reason. 

The elevator doors opened up with a sigh, and the darker sub-basement levels greeted them with the smell of old metal. 

“Ready for this, Spock?” Kirk asked, feeling a cold steel settle in his chest. Spock looked back at him, face blank as ever, but inclined his head.

“Wherever you go, I follow.” 

Kirk felt his heart beat a little harder at the potential meaning of his words. He swallowed, nodding, and set off down the corridor. 

Their most secure cell was right in the middle. It had all six physical locks, a thumb print scanner that would only allow a previously inputted four people to enter (and one of those people was dead), and no windows. It had thicker walls than all the other cells, and a heavy titanium door that had been tested against strength three times that of a human.

Spock hadn’t managed to do much more than dent the thing, and that wasn’t enough for an escape.

“Boss! Good to see you up and about.” Giotto was on guard duty. Kirk hadn’t always liked Giotto -- the man had been working for Pike even longer than Kirk had, and they’d fought (physically and verbally) many times over the years. Now, though, Giotto was fiercely loyal.

“Nothing keeps me down long, Cupcake. You should know.” Kirk grinned, and Giotto rolled his eyes and stepped aside.

“You gettin’ a look at him, or are you here to finish the job?”

Kirk rolled his shoulders. The left one, the one that had been dislocated before he passed out, popped. “Why not a bit of both?”

He raised his thumb to the scanner as Spock began to undo the locks. It took five full minutes for the door to open, and even then it was heavy enough that Kirk had to shove his shoulder against it to get it to swing open.

John Harrison was chained to the metal slab that was to serve as a bed. He had an IV drip beside his bed, and two tubes ran from each of his arms to the bags that hung on it. He looked like a statue. For a moment, Kirk wasn’t even sure he was breathing.

“The sedatives slow his system down so much that his heart is close to stopping.” Spock explained as though he'd read Kirk's mind. Sometimes, Kirk wasn't sure that Spock hadn't. “Even if he were to wake, the time it would take to get upright would be doubled, perhaps tripled. He would need time to recover.”

“So he’s helpless.” Kirk felt the gun warm and solid, tucked in the back of his pants. “Good.”

Spock stood by the door as he approached. Kirk stared down at Harrison’s still form with a surge of savage anger in his chest. Anger that Harrison had taken them all on so easily and nearly escaped with only a few scrapes. Anger that Harrison had killed Pike, for seemingly no reason. Just blind fury, for all the hell the man had caused.

He pulled the gun from his pants and slammed the butt of it across Harrison’s face. Harrison did not move, and it sounded like he’d just struck a wall. He  did it again, and the metal of the gun cut Harrison’s cheek, right across the sharp angle of his cheekbone. Kirk grinned in fury-filled satisfaction as he saw that Harrison, too, bled red. 

He stepped back then and flipped the gun around in his hand so it pointed the right way. He held it loose and steady in one hand, as accustomed to the grip that fit his fingers as he was to the way blood tasted in his mouth. Kirk leveled the gun so the barrel pointed right between Harrison’s eyes, and took a deep, steadying breath.

Harrison’s eyes opened. “You should think before you do that, James Tiberius Kirk.”

Spock was at his side in the time it took Kirk to pull the trigger. Harrison took the bullet to the shoulder instead of the face as he sat up. Kirk guessed from the blood staining his shirt that it was the same shoulder Spock had shot.

Spock had his gun raised, his shoulder in front of Kirk’s shoulder so he was blocking Kirk slightly from Harrison’s sight. 

“You may relax, Spock.” Harrison leaned back against the wall in a slump that somehow managed to look graceful. “I am without weapon, and find it difficult to move…” His head lolled to the side and he looked at Kirk through heavy eyelids. “That doctor of yours is most impressive.”

“Don’t talk about him. Give me a reason not to shoot your fucking face off right now.” Kirk wrapped a finger around the trigger.

“I did not set those bombs.” Harrison said, his voice coming out tinged with too much breath for it to be called much more than a sigh filled with words. Kirk nearly pulled the trigger, but the content of his words stalled him. “But I know who did.”

“Our sources tell us it was you who planted the first bomb, and you who fired a shot at Christopher Pike through our window. Our companion found the gun which killed Pike stashed away in an alley near where we found you.” Spock said, “Why should we believe you, when all evidence points to the contrary?”

“Did your source also call me John Harrison?” Harrison locked his eyes somehow on them both, his eyes focused while the rest of his body seemed incapable of higher functions.

“Is that not your name?” Spock hadn’t so much as twitched the entire time this conversation took place. His gun was still pointing directly at Harrison’s throat, and his stance was still defensive. Kirk stepped around him.

“I know what you’re doing, you bastard. But McCoy’s got you hopped up on enough medicine to make a damn elephant sleepy, you’re not gonna keep us here the four hours it takes to wear off. So quit stalling, say what you wanna say, and then I’ll put a bullet in your head for your trouble.” 

Threats like that, when given to him, usually made Kirk roll his eyes. But that was because usually the people who gave him never intended to make true of the promise. He’d been kidnapped more times than he could count, but he was still kicking. They always wanted to trade him to people who wanted him more, or on one memorable occasion, try and sell him as a dancer at the Orion strip joint on the city limits.

Kirk, on the other hand, meant every word he said.

Harrison looked at him, as though pondering the threat, and then he said. “My name is Khan. I have never called myself John.” He wet his mouth and Kirk sensed he was about to give a long story. “Did your… sources … tell you why I was imprisoned?”

Kirk feigned nonchalance, shrugging. “Never asked. Don’t care.”

“Your sources killed my family, James Kirk.” Khan breathed out heavily, “Your sources obliterated them where they stood. Twelve women, a child. Twenty-seven of us, in all. And they left me alive to watch them die.” Khan looked at Kirk. “Your  _ sources  _ did this to me, after making my family what we were.”

“What are you?”

“Better.” Khan said. “At everything. We were the cure for humanity’s every concern. We were the future.”

“That sounds kind of self-righteous, Spock, don’t you think?” Kirk scratched his jaw with the barrel of the gun, listening to metal rasp against his stubble. “And I can’t stand self-righteous bastards.”

“If you do not believe me, have your pet Vulcan read my mind.” Khan looked at Spock with mocking, multi-colored eyes. “Or do you not possess that ability, as only a half-breed?”

Spock did not react. Kirk, however, did. “Spock isn’t a pet.” He said calmly, though the cold steel that had settled in his heart when they’d reached this floor had sprung tight like a bear trap. “And he’s plenty Vulcan enough to kick your ass, from what I’ve heard. So I’d watch your mouth.”

"Touchy, James Kirk, touchy..." Khan breathed.

“I will do as he says, sir.” Spock said. “I would investigate to prove his reliability.”

“You want in this guy’s head, Spock?” Kirk looked at him, surprised. “You sure?”

“If it will bring us closer to answers, I will initiate a very light meld. I will feel what he feels, but he will not feel me.” Spock lowered his gun and gave it to Kirk. “I would ask, however, that if it appears to be going badly, you shoot him.”

“‘Course, Spock.” Kirk took the gun and tucked it in his pants. He raised his own and leveled it once more at Khan.

Spock approached Khan, and it was the most tense Kirk had ever felt. He felt that at any moment, Khan would attack. Spock could get hurt, and Kirk couldn’t let that happen. He would put six bullets in Khan’s eye before he got to lay hands on Spock.

Spock pulled off one of the gloves Kirk hadn’t noticed he was wearing, and touched Khan’s face. They both twitched slightly, and then Spock jerked his hand away and moved back to Kirk’s side. Kirk handed him his gun, never taking his own off of Khan.

“Well?” Kirk said, when the silence stretched to be uncomfortable.

“He is not lying. He did not set the bombs. His family is dead, I felt his anguish.” 

“Do you believe me now, James Tiberius Kirk? I did not bomb the city. There are other hands at play in this game, and they are playing with you as easily as children played with dolls.” Khan grinned, but it was without humor. It was something cold and broken. “There is a man you know well. He has taken the name John Harrison, and bombed these people, not me.” Khan’s eyes danced with mocking, angry light. “Can you figure out who it is?”

Kirk could. He lowered the gun he’d kept pointed at Khan throughout the exchange, and frowned. “Did you kill Pike, or was it… the other guy?” 

“Christopher Pike was partners with him. They slaughtered my family together.” Khan said, “I shot him and he died without pain. It was a mercy.”

Kirk nodded. “I understand.”

He shot Khan in the face twice without another word. The wall splattered with blood, and other things. Khan’s body fell to the side and nearly off the bed, spreading the mess everywhere. He was dead.

“Giotto, get someone to clean this up. It’s a mess.” Kirk turned away and didn’t look back as he strode out the door.

Spock stared at the mess, engraving it to memory as he did. Vulcans did not appreciate violence. They did not believe in it. Spock used it more often than he used his meditation incense these days, and to make up for it, he resolved to remember every life they took.

He did not feel guilt over this life, as he had others.

He turned and followed Kirk out out the door and up the elevator to the dining hall. Only when they’d settled down, a map across the table and a message sent out to those that were able to respond, did Spock allow himself to think that Kirk looked beautiful with a gun in his hand and vengeance on his face.


	6. Chapter Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Khan is dead, but the man who bombed their city -- Kirk's playground, his territory, this place that they own -- is still alive. They're coming for him, next.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You may have noticed this now has a ''10'' in place of the ''?'' that used to be present when counting chapters! This is a pretty rough estimate, but I think we should be somewhere around there. So we're roughly a little over halfway done with this fic! Thanks for sticking with me so far! Please keep the comments coming! 
> 
> This chapter is more of a bridge chapter than anything, but I hope you enjoy it all the same.
> 
> warnings for this chapter: casual talk of extreme violence, casual talk of maiming, illusions to sex, one small reference to thwarting another person's attempts at sex slavery.

**Four Days Before // 8:15 AM // The Enterprise Building Kitchen & Dining Room**

Kirk was falling asleep on his feet, which was irritating because this was really important. It was kind of hard to focus on the maps and pages of information spread out across the table when his eyelids kept trying to close on him.

If Khan was to be believed, and Spock said he was telling the truth, then that left only one person who knew the name John Harrison. He thought back, remembering how Admiral Marcus had known about the bombing. He’d claimed it was because of the news, but Spock had said Chekov had deleted all footage that hadn’t already been aired. If their hacked emails were still accurate (they were, Uhura never slipped up), then Marcus hadn’t even been planetside when that footage had been released. In fact, he hadn’t been on planetside more than twenty minutes before he cornered Kirk in that bar.

Which meant he shouldn’t have known about the bombings.

Kirk hated getting feeling used. He’d had it enough, for years before joining up with Pike and The Enterprise. The Enterprise was not a pack of hunting dogs. They didn’t do anyone’s dirty work but their own and certainly not the work of a coward too lazy to fix his own mistakes.

McCoy threw himself back in his chair again. He was on his third cup of coffee. Kirk eyed the cup and envied him, but he felt that leaving their plans for the time it took to make a cup would take too long. He felt like a racehorse, biting at the bit and still not moving fast enough.

Spock had left the room a few minutes ago, but since he hadn’t announced his departure Kirk assumed he’d be back in a moment. The rest of the main Crew was around the table.  They’d been staring at maps and charts all morning, and most of them were stifling yawns. It was clear nobody had slept last night. 

“Sulu, do you have those time tables that tell us when they change the guard?” Kirk asked, spreading his hand across the part of the map that was Starfleet Headquarters.

“Aye, sir.” Sulu slipped the papers across the table towards him. “If they haven’t changed in the last two weeks, those are the schedules.” 

“Uhura?” Kirk asked, and Uhura frowned.

“I talked to Scotty like you asked, but the identification keycard is still buggy. It might work, it might not.” She placed said keycard on the table. “He said he would be working on it right now, if you’d let him out of bed.”

“His knee isn’t ready for him to be kicking machines around.” McCoy huffed, “Let him rest more than a few hours.”

“Bones is right, I don’t want Scotty to be out for longer because we pushed him too soon.” Kirk said.

Bones looked at him in surprise before jerking his head in a stunted nod. “Damn right. Thank you.”

Uhura spread her hands, “I’m just telling you what he said,” she tilted her head and considered the map. “He claims he wasn’t even close to being finished messing with Pike’s old Starfleet ID. In ten years, they might have even moved past using badges. They might do retinal scans, or any number of things.” 

“You leave out the part where Scotty said he’d get better faster if you joined him in bed.” Chekov pointed out, cheeky.

Uhura rolled her eyes, but a blush rose to her cheeks.

Kirk decided not to comment on that, and instead frowned again at their map. They didn’t have the exact schematics of Starfleet Headquarters. They’d never had the interest to make a perfect map before now, since before now they’d only been interested in the armory and stealing things off of Starfleet patrols.

Now, they needed its heart.

“We could go to Carol first, see if she knows anything we don’t.” Kirk suggested, but even he knew that was a bad idea.

“Carol won’t be happy we’re going after her father.” McCoy said, “She’d tell him in a heartbeat. She might trust us, but not enough not to risk her dad’s life.”

“Carol will get over it.” Kirk said, “And if she doesn’t,  _ we’ll _ get over it.” He said it as though he didn’t care if she turned her back on them, but he would. Carol had been a good ally, and even a friend at times. She didn’t agree with everything they did, and didn’t know most of it, but she liked the way they owned freedom.

Kirk had gotten drunk in her presence enough that he’d started to bond with her. They'd been pretty good friends even before he managed to slyly start getting information from her. If she hadn’t been so very different from the people he ran with, he might have tried to start something. But he hadn’t.

And maybe that wasn’t because she was a civilian. Maybe that was because--

“Black, with whipped cream.” Spock suddenly said from beside him. Kirk stared at him, and then down at the mug he was holding in his hands.

It was exactly how Kirk took his coffee.

He looked back up, and Spock raised an eyebrow.

Kirk snapped his mouth shut as he realized he’d been staring open-mouthed, and took the cup. “Thanks, Spock.” He said, without stuttering. He was a gang leader, for fuck’s sake. He’d killed people.

McCoy cleared his throat, but when Kirk looked at him he only stared back and took a long drain of his coffee. Uhura was hiding a smirk behind her hand beside him. Her nails were once again impeccable and sharp, painted this time a brilliant blue.

“Have you made any forward progress ascertaining where we might find Admiral Marcus while I was gone?” Spock asked as the silence stretched like taffy.

“His office is here, we think.” Chekov said, tapping just slightly to the right of the middle of Starfleet Headquarters. “But if we were to attempt to kill him while he is there, we would have to make our way through the majority of the compound, and then back out as well, without being caught. There are… countless security measures in place to prevent anyone who isn’t authorized from getting even close.”

Spock studied the map intensely. “Where does he reside when he is not working?”

“Here,” Sulu said, pointing to a building even further inside the fences. “At least, that’s where he’s registered and seen most often. I think he has a place in the city with his daughter, but he doesn’t ever sleep there.”

“Unfortunately.” McCoy mumbled, “If he lived there, we’d be on him faster than butter on toast.”

“The security measures are insane. I’m not sure we can do it, honestly.” Uhura said, frowning at the intercepted emails on her PADD. 

“Then let’s come at it from another angle,” Kirk said, chewing on his lip as he turned the map another way. It wasn’t helping him come up with any new ideas.

“What of their aerial defenses, Nyota?” Spock asked, studying the building structure with a critical eye.

Uhura hesitated, looking at him warily before she slowly said, “Minimal. They don’t really plan for an attack from above, because they’re Starfleet. The skies belong to them.”

Spock stared intensely at the map, and then pushed it to the side in favor of the one beneath it. “Jim, the distance we would have to cover without sufficient protection to reach this shuttle is only fifty-six point nine meters.” Spock raised his eyes, “Significantly less than attempting to make it through the entire building.”

“You’re suggesting we  _ steal  _ one of Starfleet’s own shuttles?” Bones slammed his mug on the table. “Are you out of your Vulcan mind?!”

“You wanna take one of these shuttles and fly it straight into Starfleet Headquarters, Spock?” Kirk looked doubtful, “They’d see us coming. They’d be on us before we could land.”

Spock raised an eyebrow. “Then perhaps we should not land.”

There was a beat of silence around the table.

Then, “Holy shit man, are you suicidal? Do I need to do a psych eval right now?” McCoy stared at Spock with wide eyes. “How do you even tell if a Vulcan’s gone crazy?”

“If he’s with us for another three years, you’ll find out.” Uhura said smugly, “That’d be seven, wouldn’t it, Spock?”

Spock politely ignored her. “I am not suicidal, Doctor. I am offering a solution. As a group, our stealth skill are admirable, but we are not invisible nor invincible. There is less than a .004 percent chance that we would all survive making the trip to Admiral Marcus’ chambers, much less returning. Therefore, I have offered a logical alternative.”

“You want us to crash a shuttle into his window.” Sulu’s eyes starting to glint dangerously. “I’ve always wanted to fly a shuttle…”

“But how would we survive the crash?” Chekov demanded, “And how could all of us even fit in one? They are small, yes?”

“We could all fit in one, they're not that small.” Kirk said, “But… but it might work better if we take two.” Kirk lifted his eyes to meet Spock’s. “That’s your plan, right?” Kirk saw the barest hint of a smile of Spock’s face and his chest felt tight with pride. 

“Affirmative, sir. One to use to gain us entrance, and another in place as a rescue craft.”

“There will be two groups.” Kirk said, aligning the maps beside each other. “We’ll have to time it right, but this could work. The shuttles have bare minimum shielding, but it should be enough that crashing through a few walls won’t blow us up.”

“Dammit Jim, you keep talkin’ like that and I’m gonna think you’re serious.” McCoy warned.

“Oh Bones, when have I ever lied to you?” Kirk batted his eyes. McCoy scoffed. Spock studied the map more intensely.

“It’ll be a bumpy ride, but I think we could do it.” Sulu said. He’d pulled the schematics for the shuttle up on Uhura’s PADD and was studying it with a delighted curiosity. Chekov chewed his pencil beside him, gazing into the distance thoughtfully.

“You’re all insane.” Bones said, “You’ve never even flown one of these things, Sulu. You’re gonna smash right into the ground.”

“Your constant negativity makes my heart hurt, Bones.” Kirk said, pouting.

“Mr. Sulu may very well never have piloted a Starfleet shuttle.” Spock spoke up again, “However, I have.”

“Yeah? You’re going to teach him? How?” McCoy scoffed, “On what? It’s not like we have one just lying around.”

“No,” Spock said, “But I have my memories, and I can give them to Mr. Sulu, if he would care to learn.”

Sulu looked up in surprise, but Kirk might have snapped his neck with how fast he looked at Spock. “What?” 

“You mean, I’d learn? Just like that?” Sulu beamed, “I don’t see why not.”

“You would not have the muscle memory nor the practice that would be granted to you, had you learned the normal way.” Spock said, “You will have only the barest hints of my own memories, mostly images of myself piloting a similar shuttle. Also, Mr. Sulu, there will be some emotional transference. I find it prudent to warn you, as they may overwhelm you momentarily.”

“Yeah, but they’re your emotions. Vulcan emotions. I can handle that.” Spock’s did not look like he believed him. Sulu leaned across the table. “I’m ready for it.”

Spock stepped back and shook his head. “You may be, but I find myself inadequately prepared for such a meld. I would prefer to meditate beforehand.” 

Kirk looked up, concern written clearly across his face. “You, inadequately prepared? Are you okay, Spock?”

Spock met his gaze slowly. “I am not unstable, if that is what you meant to ask. I do, however, require some time to restore my mental barriers, and--”

Kirk suddenly took him in again; his blood splattered clothing and dust-coated hair. He hadn’t left Kirk’s side all night, not even for a shower, and Kirk still had him standing there.

Kirk had been itching to move, but Admiral Marcus wasn’t going anywhere. In fact, it might be better to make the guy wait. Have him sweat, not sure if they knew of his involvement with the bombs or not, not sure if they were hunting him down.

“Alright, everyone, let’s take a break.” Kirk said, “We’ll start talking about this again after lunch, or dinner, maybe, but we all need a solid few hours. Let’s get some sleep, and showers, and whatever else, and then we’ll start these plans back up again when we’re fresh.”

McCoy looked like he wanted to offer praise, but all he did was lift his empty coffee mug, mutter a “Hear Hear,” and kick his legs down off the table. Chekov was still lost in thought, mumbling in Russian under his breath, so Sulu gently shook him out of it and headed for their rooms.

“I was just about to ask you to take a shower, sir.” Uhura said, “You stink.”

Kirk sighed. These were the people he trusted with his life.

He entered the elevator with Spock, McCoy, and Uhura. Uhura got off on the floor below their own, which Kirk was well aware was not her floor and was, in fact, the floor where their engineers slept, but that was fine.

He could hardly begrudge her telling Scotty the new ideas, and if that escalated, it was fine by him. Kirk glanced at Spock again, and found him looking back. 

Oh yeah, Uhura’s relationship with Scotty was  _ totally  _ fine by him.

When the elevator opened to their floor, Kirk went straight for his bedroom. He was exhausted, even with the perfect coffee Spock had brought him. So he wasted no time, entering the bathroom and filling the tub with steaming water and lavender soap. He sank into the bubbles with a sigh that he felt all the way down to his bones. 

He shared this bathroom with Spock, while the other bathroom on the top floor belonged to Bones. There had been three bathrooms at one point, but they’d converted the last one into the miniature kitchen because Kirk got hungry at weird hours and didn’t like to have to use the elevator.

Kirk only remembered to feel guilty about stealing the bath from Spock when he was submerged to the edge of his jaw in hot water, and by then it was too late. Spock didn’t usually take baths, but Kirk could probably have offered. Especially since Spock had still been covered in blood, like Kirk had.

Kirk couldn’t manage to keep feeling bad about taking the bath when the hot water soothed the ache in his shoulder and relaxed him even further. If he were any more relaxed, he would melt into the bath and become one of the bubbles. He raised his arms and started to scrub the grit from the broken buildings out of his skin, humming under his breath. He sang in the shower, but baths required a more subtle approach, he thought.

“Would it make you uncomfortable if I used the shower?” Spock asked.

Kirk sloshed water all over the floor, somehow managing to jump even while laying down in a bath. “Spock! Holy shit! I didn’t hear you come in!”

Spock took a step back to avoid the wild splashing and raised an eyebrow. Kirk was distracted from the eyebrow when he noticed Spock had removed his suit jacket, and was currently undoing his tie with careful, quick fingers.

“Jim, you still have not answered me.”

“What was the question?”

If it were possible, Spock looked amused. “I am going to use the shower.”

“Yep.” Kirk agreed, “That’s cool.” It took Spock shrugging off his bloodstained shirt for Kirk’s brain to catch up to his mouth, and by then it was too late.

The spacious bathroom was designed to be as lavish as possible. The round bathtub was so big, Kirk could probably drown in it if he was particularly drunk (or embarrassed). It was situated in the middle of the bathroom, with a good four or five feet of floor space between it and any of the counters, and a good seven feet from the toilet. There was a shower with glass doors in one corner that was big enough to fit two people comfortably (but he was not thinking about that) and it was that Spock headed towards.

Kirk heard the quiet sound of metal as Spock pulled his belt through the last loops of his pants, dropping it and the gun attached neatly over the hooks by the shower, and Kirk plunged his own head beneath the water before he could fully comprehend that it didn’t look like Spock was wearing underwear.

So much for being relaxed.

 

**Four Days Before // 2:35 PM // Top Floor, Enterprise Building**

 

After his hot bath (and subsequent cold shower, which he wasn’t about to confess to but was sure Spock knew about), Kirk knocked straight out for six hours. He slept so deeply he didn’t dream, which was good because he probably would have had nightmares. He woke up groggy, sunlight streaming through the little window in his room. He was tempted to go back to sleep, but he had been resting long enough that the impatient thirst to move had settled back in his belly, and he was hungry. He stumbled from the room, dressed in only his boxer briefs and looking for a snack.

McCoy looked up from where he was frying bacon, and then snorted. “Does your backside have something written across it?”

Kirk blinked at him blearily, feeling like it was too early to be talking despite it being late afternoon, and then he looked over his shoulder. “Oh yeah. It says ‘This Ass is Criminal’. I thought it was ironic when I bought them.”

Bones laughed, shaking his head. “You’re an idiot, Jim.”

“These are my lucky underwear, Bones. Don’t judge. Besides, you should see the ones I almost stole you for Christmas.” Kirk stole a slice of bacon and nimbly dodged the strike of the spatula that came with his theft, grinning at Bones’ horror at the idea of Kirk buying him underwear for any holiday. “How long have you been up?”

“Ten minutes.” Bones said, yawning as if the very idea of waking up made him tired again. “I couldn’t sleep through your stupid alarm, and I’m on the other side of the damn floor. You’re such a damn Beastie Boys fanboy.”

“The Beastie Boys are classical composers. Have some respect.” Kirk yawned as well, rubbing his eyes. He bounced up and down on his toes, trying to wake himself up. McCoy passed him a bowl of gooey pancake mix in between flipping bacon on the stove and gestured to their miniature griddle.

“Go cook some pancakes. And make ‘em thin. That’s the kinda batter without eggs.” McCoy put the last of the bacon on a plate. “Your hobgoblin can eat ‘em, that way.”

“Aww, Bones, you’re goin’ soft.” Kirk teased, and McCoy scoffed and threatened to give him a rabies shot.

They cooked in comfortable silence until there was a mountainous stack of pancakes, and a plate heavy with bacon. As they set the plates on the table, Spock emerged from his room. He never looked sleep-ruffled from what Kirk had seen over the years, but there was something slightly more relaxed in his shoulders in the morning.

“Is it human custom to label oneself with your undergarments?” Spock greeted, taking a seat at the table. 

Kirk knocked his head against the top of the fridge as he jerked back up, and laughed. “No, it’s just me. But it’s true, right? Come on, Mr. I-Can’t-Lie. Tell me I don’t have a good ass.”

Spock stared at him, and then pointedly turned back to the table. Kirk snorted with laughter and poured himself some chocolate milk. “I made vegan pancakes, Spock, so you’re welcome to them if you want.”

“That was thoughtful, Jim. Thank you for taking me into consideration in your meal.” Spock pulled two pancakes onto his plate with his fork.

“It’s me you should be thankin’.” Bones muttered, plopping down in the seat across the table from Spock. “I made the damn batter.”

Spock paused, fork half-way to his mouth, and slowly lowered it back to his plate.

“What? Not gonna eat ‘em now?” McCoy actually looked offended, slamming his butter knife against his plate and aggressively cutting his pancakes. “That’s rude as all hell--”

“I am calculating the likelihood of you attempting to poison me.” Spock picked up his force and continued eating.

“Figure the odds are in your favor, Greenie?”

Spock tilted his head and finished chewing. “To the contrary, the likelihood that you would attempt to poison me was forty-three percent. However, there is a much slimmer chance that you would be successful.” 

Kirk roared with laughter as McCoy flushed angrily. Spock blinked, a very slight frown appearing as McCoy pointed the knife at him. Spock looked less impressed by the knife and more uncomfortable with the syrup that had just splattered on his cheek.

“Think you’re funny, do ya, hobgoblin?” McCoy snorted, “If I wanted you dead, you’d be dead. I may be a doctor, but I can put you in a hospital just as fast as get you outta one.”

Spock wiped his face with a napkin. “Of course, Doctor.”

“Don’t gimme that half-assed--”

“Bones! Just eat your pancakes! Spock, stop antagonizing Bones.” Kirk grinned at them both as they both turned to look at him, Bones with a glare and Spock with a raised eyebrow. Then they both, almost in time with each other, went back to eating.

When the stack of pancakes had been mostly demolished, Kirk sighed and settled back in his chair, feeling great that he was now safe once again to lounge around in his underwear if he wanted. “Look at this. The three scariest gangsters in the city, and we’re all sitting down to a nice afternoon of pancakes, bacon, and friendly company.”

Bones was drinking grape juice instead of coffee, which was a new development. Kirk wondered if they were just out of coffee on this floor. He set it back down at Kirk’s words, shaking his head, “Jim, you know I think you’re a great leader, but we’re not the three scariest gangsters in the city.”

Kirk looked surprised, “What?” 

Spock continued eating his pancakes.

McCoy jerked his fork at Spock, as if to say ‘see, he agrees with me’. Then he said: “Clearly, Uhura is at spot number one, if we’re really makin' a list.” McCoy shook his head, nose wrinkling as he apparently thought back, “Fuck, remember the thing with the fingers? That guy grabbed her--”

“They made nice earrings, Bones.” Kirk nodded, chewing the last of the bacon with a fond look on his face. “She has good taste.”

“I would submit the belief that Mr. Chekov appears to have ample skill in terrifying our enemies as well.” Spock said, as though the idea was impossible for him to comprehend but true all the same.

“Little tyke grew up fast.” Kirk sighed, smiling. “You’re right. We’re not the scariest. But let’s pretend we are, okay guys? We don’t want little Pavel or even Uhura to get it into their heads that they don’t need us.”

After the meal ended, Bones and Kirk shuffled off to their respective rooms to get dressed. Kirk went practical instead of flashy. He knew all the tricks by now, of course, but scrubbing all the  blood out of his gold-thread shirts, they just didn’t have the same vibrancy in his opinion. So instead he chose a black button down with pure gold buttons, and some slacks. Black hid blood better.

When he returned to the kitchen, Spock was done cleaning up. Kirk settled down at the little round table shoved out of the way and pushed up by the window, fondly tracing the gouge marks in it. “Say, Spock, we’re still even. We should play again soon,” he said, running his finger first over the perfectly shaped ‘S’ carved into the expensive wood, and then the ‘J’. Beneath each letter was a score of tallies carved with a knife, and as he’d said, they were even. Kirk wondered where the blade that he’d used to make the marks had wound up, and then remembered that he’d left it buried in an Orion’s throat.

To be fair, the Orion had been trying to sell Gaila into sex slavery, so. It was only fair, really.

“I would not be opposed to playing after this job concludes, Jim.” Spock agreed, drying his hands with a towel. Kirk saw the leather biker gloves tucked neatly into his belt, taken off so he could scrub the dishes clean.

They had a dishwasher, but Spock and Bones never used it. Kirk didn’t understand.

“Sounds good to me,” Kirk agreed, realizing he hadn’t responded, too fixated on the way Spock folded the towel into a triangle before hanging it back up.

Bones came out a moment later dragging a comb through his hair, so the conversation ended there. He was in his black scrubs, which Kirk personally thought foreboded either super fun times, or super bad ones.

Kirk rose to his feet and grinned at the two men before him. “Ready to start hunting a Starfleet Admiral for real?”

Bones sighed, muttering something about being too old for this, and Spock shifted his stance so that he was standing sideways, as if telling Kirk to lead the way.

Kirk did, stepping into the elevator and riding down to the Heist Hall floor. 

 

**_3:00 // Heist Room #1, Enterprise Building_ **

 

While the rest of the Crew involved in the hunt for Admiral Marcus seated themselves around the long metal table, Kirk pinned the map of the shuttle hangar to the wall with a pair of throwing knives, and then gratefully accepted the stapler from Spock and hung the close-up pictures of the officers’ barracks beside it with that.

“Alright, you filthy criminals,” Kirk said, grinning sharply and uncapping a bright yellow marker. “Here’s how this is going to go…”

He set the tip against the semi-transparent, laminated map, and started to draw.


	7. Chapter Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Enterprise Crew make preparations to take on Starfleet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings for this chapter: mentions of past child abuse, violence, threats, BAMF Bones (because I'm too thirsty for Bones)

 

_ “At 6:03 every morning, they can exchange the guards. That’s when we’ll strike. So we have the rest of today to get ready for this, guys. It’s the biggest job we’ve ever run. We’ll need ammunition...” _

 

**Four Days Before // 6:00 PM // Downtown Klingon District**

 

There weren’t many things that scared Kor. He was a Klingon of high standing amongst his people, ex-military and owner of a gritty ammunition store. It was small, but he had things people wanted that nobody else seemed to be able to get their hands on, and his people loved him for it. 

His store resided on the end of the street, deep within the heart of Klingon-owned territory. The gangs kept him in business, mostly, though every once and awhile he got a civilian coming in to purchase a little something they thought would protect them. Kor was an honorable man, he thought, and so he never denied anyone the right to violence.

His store made him untouchable by most people. If they wanted something, they had to come to him, and that granted him a sort of immunity.

Therefore, Kor was not afraid of many things.

However, he was afraid of the sight that greeted him that evening as he polished the barrel of an antique double-barrel shotgun. If he were less in control of himself, he would have fired at the newcomers.

Because walking through his tinted glass doors were Nyota Uhura and Pavel Chekov, both dressed in red, with perfect smiles on their faces.

The whispers on the street had names for them. Nyota Uhura was called The Speaker. They said if she spoke in your tongue, she’d next remove yours with a nail file. Chekov was called “Babyface”, but never within earshot. He was a terror in Klingon territory specifically, having picked fights with them even before he’d been roped into the terrible Enterprise Crew.

Kor set the gun down on the counter and leveled them with the best calm gaze he could manage. “Can I help you?” He asked, in Standard.

The Speaker looked back at him. She had dark skin, darker eyes, all made more beautiful by the dress she wore, which was red as lifeblood and tight as a second skin. She spoke back to him in perfect Klingon, even matching the particular dialect of his colony, where he’d lived twenty years earlier. “We’re here for ammunition. All that you have.”

“That will cost you.” Kor said, still in Standard. He was not one to show he was intimidated.

Chekov’s eyes sparkled as he reached deep into his pocket. The rest of his Crew dressed like millionaires, fitting their part, but whenever Kor had seen him he wore jeans that were scuffed at the edges, and hoodies that draped past his hands. Kor disliked him greatly. He inched his hand towards the gun, eyes never leaving the child.

He missed Uhura pulling out a polished chrome pistol with the best silencer in the world attached neatly to the barrel. Kor found himself staring at the business end, with no doubt she wouldn’t even break a nail pulling the trigger. “We can pay in full now, or later.” Her lips pulled up in a crooked, dangerous smile.

Chekov pulled a list from the pocket he was digging in, and slid it across the glass counter.

Kor swallowed thickly. He thought of the failed attempt he’d made to have his boys jump one of the lesser members of The Enterprise Crew. He thought of the silence that had followed. He looked back at the gun, and felt his mouth dry out. 

Uhura clicked her tongue. “We can pay back everything we owe you  _ now,  _ or  _ later _ ,” she repeated, narrowing her eyes.

“Is rude to keep a lady waiting.” Chekov warned, tapping his finger against the list. As he did so, he took the double-barrel Kor had been cleaning and inspected it.

“Later,” Kor finally gave in, weaponless and outmatched. “I’ll get you what you need.”

Uhura lowered the gun. “Don’t be too slow. I hate waiting.”

\-----

 

_ “... body armor wouldn’t be a bad idea either. It definitely saved me some bumps and bruises when the explosion went off…” _

 

**6:00 PM // Enterprise Territory, Just East of the Building**

 

“Dammit Jim, I know you hate coming here. Why couldn’t you just let Chekov and Uhura take this part of the job, while you and I went to the Klingons?” McCoy stuck close to his side as they approached the run-down building.

The Enterprise Crew didn’t come here often. Kirk came even less often than that. The ‘open’ sign was burnt out, but Kirk could see the man they were looking for through the grimy window. He had gained weight since the last time Kirk saw him, which made him look bulky and strange in the warped glass. He had a cigarette hanging from his lips like an afterthought.

“I’m not afraid of him,” Kirk said, “So there’s no reason to deprive Chekov of having more fun at that bastard Kor’s expense.”

“I didn’t say you were afraid.” McCoy sighed. He shook his head, “You’re not afraid of anything, from what I’ve seen. I just don’t see the point in stressin’ yourself out. You’ll have gray hair before you’re thirty.”

Kirk wet his lips. Bones was wrong. Kirk was afraid of plenty, and he’d even been afraid of the man inside the armor shop. He’d been little, once, and white-knuckled fists were scary. Doubly so when they were grabbing on your arms and shoving you around. But his fears had grown just as he had, and he’d long outgrown the terror of a man at the bottom of a beer bottle. 

Kirk used to be scared of Frank. 

Now he shoved open the door to the red convertible, which hadn’t always been his, and strode straight for the door. He didn’t have to look to know Bones was on his heels, because Bones was always beside him.

Kirk entered the armor shop with the lazy, unhurried stride of a man without fear of anything, and grinned. “Heya, Stepfucker.” He greeted, “I’m here for business.”

Frank spit. Kirk wrinkled his nose to see that not only had he taken up smoking cheap cigarettes, he hadn’t even given up chewing tobacco to do it. “You still playin’ goody-good gangster or have you grown some testicles, boy?” Frank asked, voice sounding like a broken record.

Kirk had heard it all before. “Does it matter? I’ve got the cash to pay for what I want, Frank. Give me six chest pieces. One fitted for a woman.”

“You bringin’  _ whores  _ on your pathetic little heists now?” Frank sneered. Kirk imagined he could smell the reek of his breath even from a foot away from the counter.

“You’re damn lucky Uhura ain’t here to hear you say that.” McCoy said, speaking for the first time. As with any other time he’d come with Kirk, he looked at Frank with nothing but disgust in his usually laughing eyes. 

 

“Ah, you brought the Southern one again.” Frank leaned back on the stool he sat on, and it creaked. “Have you fucked him yet, Jimmy? Ah, but surely not, he’s still around.” 

Kirk sighed, knowing better than to let his words hurt even if they did rub right at all the raw spots. “I’m not here to listen--”

“Where’s the bitchy one? The Vulcan?” Frank suddenly grinned lecherously, his lips curling back in what was more of a snarl than a smile. “I guess you  _ did  _ fuck that one, huh? And he left you. Just like your mama. Just like everyone leaves you. I told you you’re too much to deal with, Jimmy, I warned--” He choked, caught off-guard in surprise when a fist suddenly balled in his shirt front and dragged him up and onto the counter top.

It wasn’t Kirk.

“Call yourself a father, do you?” McCoy shook him, unbalancing Frank just as the asshole got his hands beneath him to try and break free. “You’re nothing. You’re the scum of the Earth. Jim doesn’t need to listen to another word that comes out of your mouth.”

“Bones.” Kirk said, surprised. McCoy rarely got physical if he could help it, and even when he did, Kirk wasn’t sure he’d ever seen him throw the first punch. McCoy had a temper, but not a physical one. “I don’t give a shit what he says. It’s fine.”

“You get all your fucktoys to defend your honor like this, or just the boys, son?” Frank snapped, reaching up and taking a hold of McCoy’s wrist. McCoy twisted the shirt in his fingers further, until white marks appeared in Frank’s throat. 

“He’s nothing, Bones. Leave him. We’ll get what we need and go.” Kirk said, taking a half step forward.

“You’re right, Jim.” McCoy said coldly, eyes watching Frank pull at his wrist. “He is nothing.” McCoy reached into the messenger bag that hung at his hip with the hand not twisting Frank’s collar. He rummaged for a moment while Frank struggled to breathe, and then pulled out a syringe.

“What… are you doing?” Frank coughed. McCoy loosened his hold and listened to Frank suck in air. “What the fuck is wrong with you? What’s in that?”

McCoy moved the needle in his hand until the tip just touched the ragged stubble on Frank’s throat. “Same thing that’s inside you. Nothin’.” McCoy said, “Just air.”

“Bones.” Kirk warned, reaching forward and gripping McCoy’s elbow, eyes on the empty syringe. “Stop.”

McCoy’s fist tightened again. The needle touched Frank, but then McCoy released him, shoving him back so he fell. Frank toppled onto his ass as stool slid out beneath him, landing hard with a grunt. “Don’t open your mouth again.”

Kirk gripped McCoy’s shoulder, looking him in the eyes. He wasn’t sure what emotion McCoy saw in them, but he jerked his head in a nod and stepped back. Kirk leaned on the counter, looking down at Frank as his stepfather pulled himself to his feet, looking manic.

“Go for an alarm, or a gun, and I’ll let Bones here put that air right into your vena cava superior. In case you didn’t know, that would result in air bubbles in your bloodstream. When they reached your heart, it would falter. You’d have a heart attack at the least, your heart would stop completely if you were as unlucky as I am. Bones could save you. He might even try.” Kirk’s wasn’t smiling, nor was he scowling. He kept his face perfectly civil. “But I wouldn’t let him.”

Frank spat at him again, leaning back against the wall. There were red marks on his throat from McCoy twisting his shirt collar into his skin. Kirk stared at them instead of his eyes. “You’ve got no respect for family, boy.”

“That’s where you're wrong,” Kirk said coldly. 

There was nothing else said. He and McCoy moved around him, grabbing the best armor out of boxes and carrying it out. Kirk didn’t hand over money. Frank didn’t ask him to.

As they settled back in the convertible, kevlar stacked neatly in the back seat, Kirk looked at McCoy. McCoy smiled ruefully back, and over his shoulder Kirk caught Frank’s eyes in the window. He had a phone in his hand.

Kirk pressed down on the gas, and the tires squealed.

\-----

 

_ “Frank will probably call the cops, because he’s a jackass motherfucker. So after we get the ammunition and the armor, we’re all gonna meet back here. I’ll make sure Scotty sets up the tower’s defenses, and we’ll start loading guns and setting up for tomorrow. The city will expect us to be on a rampage after hitting Kor’s and Frank’s for guns and armor, so I’m gonna send out a few of Giotto’s best to wreck some havoc. That’ll draw the cops off of watching us.” Kirk had looked up, capping the marker. “Spock, you and Sulu will stay here. I want you to do what you have to do to teach Sulu to fly one of those shuttles, but if it’s going to be taxing on you, I want you be able to have some recovery time after.” _

_ “That will not be necessary. I am more than capable of performing a simple meld without damaging my shields, once they are sufficiently in place.” Spock had said. His voice was as even and emotionless as ever, but Kirk got the sense that he was offended. _

_ “Well, I still want you here. Hold down the fort. If I need you…” _

_ Spock had inclined his head. “As you wish.” _

 

**6:00 PM // Enterprise Tower**

 

Spock raised his hand to Sulu’s face. He’d already reiterated his warnings about the emotional transference, so there was nothing left to say. He did not entirely believe Mr. Sulu understood the depths of the emotions he was about to face, but Spock could not warn him further.

He set his fingers against Sulu’s psi points, and murmured, “My mind to your mind.”

Immediately, he was in the vast emptiness of space, with stars all around him. Sulu’s mind was ordered and sharp, clever as Spock had expected it to be. Spock carefully withdrew his mind, pulling all but one link away from Sulu’s instinctively prying fingers, and then placed the memory into Sulu’s grasping mental hands.

_ They were in a shuttle. Spock was driving because his father needed to meditate. Spock was pretending he hadn’t seen Sarek’s broken expression, because it wasn’t proper. It wasn’t what was right. _

_ There was no privacy in the shuttle. The Vulcan Elders were meditating a short ways away, so Sarek settled on the floor, legs crossed, back against the shuttle wall.  _

_ Spock gripped the controls tighter, fingers denting metal.  _ **_Mother_ ** _ , he thought and anguish surged through him unlike anything he’d ever felt. He heard the screams as Vulcan died, felt their terror and pain and everything else, and nearly collapsed. Nero had taken his planet and his mother. Nero had taken everything. _

_ He maintained control only by piloting the shuttle through the soundless void of space. They were headed for a spacedock which would take them to Earth, where Starfleet would house them until a suitable planet had been found to become New Vulcan.  _

_ His hands moved across the controls, pushing a button there that sped them up, adjusting life support controls to be more suitable for Vulcans. It was a human shuttle he flew. A last minute rescue for the High Council of Vulcan, provided by Starfleet. They would reach the spacedock in a few hours. _

_ Mother, mother, mother… _

Spock tore himself, and Sulu, out of the memory as he ended the meld. As he became aware once more of his body, he found that the hand on Sulu’s cheek was wet. 

Sulu was crying. 

Spock removed his fingers and folded them in his lap, taking a moment to restore himself. Sulu scrubbed at his face, gasping, and Spock sat silently, allowing him time to readjust.

“Were you able to receive enough of the visual aspect of flying a shuttlecraft?” Spock asked, when Sulu’s breathing had slowed.

“Spock,  _ what the fuck _ ?” Sulu stared at him, “What the  _ fuck _ ?”

“I did warn you of emotional transference.” Spock said, looking at him plainly. “You assured me you understood.”

“I didn’t know you’d flown a shuttlecraft  _ the day your mom died and planet blew up _ !” Sulu wiped another tear from his cheek. “Did Kirk know?”

“I am not positive he made the connection, and I did not specify.” Spock said, “It is irrelevant, I--”

“Irrelevant my ass, Spock!” Sulu interrupted, “You just bared your soul to me! What the hell?”

“You are hysterical. I have bared nothing but a memory--”

“You love him.” Sulu said, interrupting again. This time, Spock’s mouth remained partially open, his words silenced instantly. “You love Jim."

“The entire Crew has expressed--”

“No…” Sulu shook his head, “Spock. I’m not stupid. Yeah, we like Kirk. We love the guy. But if he asked me to… to do what you did. To share a moment like that with somebody, just so they could get piloting information?” Sulu took a deep breath, “Spock, I wouldn’t do it.”

Spock hesitated, and then said, “Jim was unaware the memory I would share would be as… overwhelming and personal as it was. Otherwise, I am… positive that he would not have asked it of me.”

“But you did it for him anyways, Spock.” Sulu gave a small grin. “You’re in love with him.”

Spock knew that. He had been aware of an emotional attachment since his second week of knowing James Tiberius Kirk. “I am,” he admitted, because Vulcans did not lie. “But I would ask that you not speak of this to anyone.”

Sulu drew an ‘x’ over his chest. “Of course not, Spock. You have my word.”

Spock nodded, and Sulu stood up. Spock was left in silence. He retreated to his room a moment later, settling on a meditation mat. He lit his incense and took the position, retreating even further into himself. 

In his mind, the world was very blue. It did not remind him of Jim’s eyes.

 

**8:30 PM // The Enterprise Building**

 

“Giotto says he’s got Rand leading a bunch of guys on a rampage straight through the Klingon’s favorite bar.” Kirk grinned as he told this to Scotty. “He promised to bring back three bottles from whichever place they stop to pillage.”

Scotty looked pleased. “I’ll hold him to that, y’know I will, sir.”

Kirk patted Scotty’s good knee. The shattered knee’s damage had faded to a light bruise, but Kirk didn’t want to remind him why he wasn’t going out with the rest of them. “I’ll tell him. I’ve gotta go. Spock promised Vulcan food tonight, and I don’t wanna miss it. You sure you don’t wanna join us for dinner?”

“No, sir. I ate earlier.” Scotty raised a glass of scotch in Kirk’s direction, “An’ I bet you’re good doctor wouldn’t let me drink this if I went to dinner.”

Kirk grinned. “Yeah, you’d be right. Okay, Scotty, you keep an eye on those cameras, alright?”

“Aye, lad, I’m not gonna let nothin’ slip by me.” 

Kirk laughed affectionately, and left Scotty to his cameras and tinkering. He’d been allowed out of bed after Bones had taken one last regenerator pass as his knee, and was now only confined to the tower. Kirk had of course found him in one of the upper labs, monitoring all the cameras Chekov had hacked for him while piecing together a device that had the potential to scramble their signal in any moving vehicle if need be.

Kirk made his way back to the dining hall, where Spock was flipping something that smelled suspiciously like grilled cheese. “Smells good,” he commented. He moved to stand at Spock’s shoulder to see what was being made, and Spock shifted slightly so he could have a better view. “Oh, wow. Are these quesadillas?”

“Of a kind,” Spock allowed, “They are called  _ filrak _ . They were a rare meal on Vulcan because the type of cheese used was no commonly sold. Here, however, there is plenty.” Spock raised his eyes, “I thought you may enjoy these more than a salad.”

Kirk smiled, patting Spock on the shoulder. “You’re great, Spock. Really.”

After dinner, which absolutely tasted like quesadillas, the Crew settled down a floor above the kitchen, in the rec room. There was a TV that stretched floor to ceiling on one wall, and Chekov was currently flipping through their database looking for something to watch. They had any film they could have wanted, since Scotty had hacked every torrent site in the world and downloaded every movie all at once. Kirk left Chekov to his browsing and moved to sit on the couch beside Sulu.

“So how did your mind-meld go?” Kirk asked, “You get what you needed?”

“And plenty I didn’t.” Sulu said. Sometimes, when he smiled, Kirk thought he had ulterior motives. 

“Do I wanna know?” Kirk asked warily, both intrigued that Sulu knew something about Spock that he might not, and also  _ pissed off  _ that Sulu might know something about Spock that he didn’t.

“Not my stories to tell, sir.” Sulu said. He got up then, moving to sit on the floor next to Chekov. Chekov had apparently found a playlist of music he liked, half of which Kirk had never heard, and was content to listen to it blast through their perfect quality speakers while they worked. He and Sulu pulled long bands of bullets out of Chekov’s bag and began loading the pile of weapons beside them, hands moving expertly.

McCoy and Spock sat down on either side of Kirk, and Kirk braced for a lecture. When none came and they simply passed weapons back and forth between the three of them, loading and checking as necessary, he began to relax.

The music shook the walls around him and thrummed through his chest as he sharpened his knives, and he felt calmer than he had in days, surrounded by his family.

There was always this relaxed sense of peace before a big job. When they faced danger the next day, The Enterprise Crew believed in peace the night before. Music, quiet talking. Bones drank whiskey to his left, just a touch. Never enough to get him drunk.

Kirk never touched alcohol the day before a job. Unfortunately, that meant he was perfectly sober when Spock kept catching him looking. He could not, in fact, blame it on being drunk.

Uhura sang for them. She only lifted her voice in song on special occasions, and when she did it was enchanting. If Kirk believed in magic, he would think she were a siren putting them all under her spell. Chekov turned the music down, and she sang along with whatever was playing. It was something low and longing, and Kirk felt emotions pulling in his chest like he did every time Uhura sang.

Chekov challenge Spock to chess and was thoroughly defeated. Kirk tried not to look smug. Sulu tried to teach Uhura a dance, but she wasn’t interested in learning, so he taught Chekov instead.

They were finished cleaning, loading, and double-checking all the weapons just after eleven o'clock. It would have been sooner without all the interruptions, but without the interruptions it wouldn’t be The Enterprise Crew. Kirk sent the rest of the gang to bed, watching with a critical eye as they all tucked their favored weapons into various places on their person, gathered up the armor Kirk had gotten them, and left, chatting quietly amongst themselves.

“You want something to help you sleep, Jim?” McCoy asked, as he always asked after Kirk ran into someone he knew from before the gang. 

Kirk felt Spock’s eyes on him as he answered. “No. I’ll be okay.” He pat McCoy on the shoulder. “Thanks, Bones.”

They stepped out of the elevator and onto their floor, and McCoy gave him one last look. Spock remained silent at Kirk’s shoulder. McCoy sighed, “Look, Jim, I’m sorry for what I did to Frank. Well, no, I’m not. But I shouldn’t have--”

Kirk shook his head, “No, seriously, don’t worry about it. He had it coming.”

Spock cleared his throat. “If I may inquire...”

“When we went to see Frank, he has some not-so-nice things to say.” Kirk said, answering Spock’s question before he finished asking it. “It’s nothing unusual but he seemed particularly nasty today. Bones put him in his place.”

Spock looked at McCoy with an eyebrow raised. McCoy sighed and rolled his eyes. “I threatened to pump a syringe full of air into his bloodstream.”

Kirk was shocked when Spock nodded, looking almost pleased. It was as if he approved of McCoy’s methods. “An ingenious idea, as there would likely be no evidence left over that could be traced back to you.”

Kirk’s mouth fell open in surprise at the genuine compliment. He looked at McCoy and McCoy looked even more pleased with himself, if not as surprised by Spock’s approval as Kirk was. “This ain’t my first rodeo, Spock. But thank you.”

Spock nodded again, and then turned to Kirk. “May I ask why you insisted you see him, when you could have instead sent Mr. Chekov and Nyota?”

“It wasn’t that big a deal,” Kirk groaned, brushing past Spock and heading for his room. “Bones just isn’t used to him like I am.”

“A familiarity with abuse does not make it any less harmful.” Spock said, following. Or, Kirk supposed, not necessarily following because his room was in the same direction as Kirk’s. 

“Jim just likes to grab the bull by the horns every once and awhile, Spock. You know that,” McCoy yawned, “I tell you what though, you go with him next time. I know how much Jim likes it when you get protective.”

Spock raised an eyebrow at Kirk. Kirk pointedly opened the door to his bedroom. “I’m going to shoot you both.”

“Goodnight, Jim.” Spock said breezily, heading for his own bedroom. The thought of Kirk trying to kill him was apparently not concerning.

McCoy didn’t seem phased either. He gave Kirk a dry look and then shut the door behind him. Kirk got ready for bed and curled up beneath the sheets. He fell asleep to the sound of Spock running water in the bathroom.

His dreams were filled with bloody knuckles and broken beer bottles, but halfway through the night they changed to long miles of sand, stretching in every direction. It was warm, but not too hot, and the sand felt like silk beneath his bare feet. The air was dry but wrapped around him with a familiarity that made him think of brown eyes and perfect bangs.

He woke thinking of Spock, and couldn’t figure out why his nightmares had shifted so abruptly to dreams of what must be Vulcan.


	8. Chapter Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They've got the weapons, the armor, the plan. Now they're going in for the kill. Admiral Marcus won't know what hit him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Announcement Time! So because I've had some interested, I've decided to post a prequel (of sorts) to this fic. It will be called "Draw Your Weapons" and will be a series of one-shots, where each chapter tells the story of how each member joined the gang. Also, I've decided to call this universe Knife 'Verse. So be on the look out for that.
> 
> warnings for this chapter *AVOID IF YOU DON'T WANT SPOILERS*: a lot of talk of blood, gun violence, other kinds of violence, a kiss that does not have explicit consent (but is consensual), cursing, threats of torture, actual torture, graphic depictions of injuries, a character dies (not of the main crew), a MAJOR character gets VERY SEVERELY (possibly fatally) INJURED

**Three Days Before // 5:55 AM // Outside San Francisco Starfleet Shuttle Hangar**

 

The fence used to be electrified. Kirk was sure it still had some crazy defense, but the sparks that used to occasionally flicker along the barbed wire at the top were no longer present.

He’d broken in once before, when he was thirteen and pissed off at Frank. He’d driven his stepfather’s red convertible straight through the fence, and nearly stopped his own heart when the electricity hit. An Andorian officer had found him though, and he not only got fixed up, but the sweet lady had let him off with only a warning.

Kirk wasn’t really interested in a repeat incident of heart failure, so he studied the fence carefully. They’d squatted out here, crouching behind cargo that had yet to be loaded onto shuttles, for two hours in the early morning darkness. The grass was wet, either with dew or with the sprinklers that had shut off seconds before they pulled up in a discreet car (thank God, there was only one thing more uncomfortable than crouching in place for an hour during a stakeout, and that was crouching in wet clothes for an hour).

“The guard rotations are following the information we have from the stolen files.” Spock said, voice just barely above a whisper, from beside him. Kirk chewed on his lip as he watched a guard march past, and nodded.

“Alright. Then we proceed as planned. Five minutes and this guy will be around the corner getting switched out with someone else. We'll hop the fence then.” Kirk looked back at his two companions. “Remember what I said. Don't touch the fence. Not even a little.”

“It's higher than we thought it'd be,” Bones said warily. He sat in the damp grass, apparently not caring that it was soaking his black jeans. He claimed crouching for longer than a minute or two hurt his knees. Kirk used to make old jokes about it, but his knees had started to ache too. “How are we going to get over? A knee up might not be enough.”

Kirk hesitated. McCoy was right. They'd added about a foot of charged fence since the last time Kirk had been there. It wasn't really surprising, since that was eleven years ago, but he also wasn't really sure what to do about it.

“I will get you both over. I am strong enough to throw you both high enough to clear it, if you do not move too much.” Spock said, “However, I have yet to come up with a successful way to get myself over.”

Kirk couldn't answer, momentarily dazed by the thought of Spock being strong enough to throw two men bodily over a nine-foot-fence.

McCoy scowled, “I ain't a cheerleader, Spock. I don't know how I feel about you tossing me around like a sack of flour.”

Spock raised an eyebrow. “If you have another suggestion, Doctor, I am more than amenable.”

McCoy grumbled. Kirk shook himself out of his daydreaming and focused. “Spock, are your gloves insulated?”

Spock looked down at his hands. They weren't covered by the usual tight leather gloves because Spock had lost them after the explosion and fight with Khan. The new pair he'd snatched up before they departed this morning were not as sleek and form fitting, but Kirk was pretty sure they were made mostly of rubber.

Spock looked back at Kirk. “If I understand your thought process, you want me to climb over the fence. There is a 60.756 chance that the rubber soles of these gloves will not be enough to ward off the electric charge of the fence.”

“Sixty percent, huh?” Bones leaned back against the metal cargo containers. “You've survived worse odds. Tell ya what, Spock. Even if you do get shocked, make sure you fall on the side of the fence with us on it and I'll restart your damn green-blooded heart.”

Kirk reached out and gripped Spock's shoulder. “You don't have to. We can find some other way to get you inside.”

Spock met Kirk's eyes. “I will climb the fence. It is the fastest way.” His eyes seemed to glint with humor barely masked. “And, as you say: 'what's life without risk?'”

Kirk beamed, “I sure do like you, Spock.”

“We're all aware.” Bones muttered. “My watch lit up. Time to go, boys.”

They peeked out from behind their hiding spot. Spock murmured, “Clear,” and they all rushed out, staying low. They reached the base of the fence and Spock planted his feet, rubber-soled leather boots digging into the mud. He cupped his hands like he was giving them a leg up. Kirk took a deep breath, but in a show of absolute trust for his second-in-command, he didn't even hesitate before putting his foot in Spock's hands like it was a stirrup.

For a moment it felt just like Spock was boosting him onto a small ledge. Then his stomach dropped out from where it should have been as he was thrown bodily into the air. He barely bit back a noise of surprise as he cleared the fence and barbed wire by a good twelve inches. He hit the ground on his toes and tucked himself into a roll, still managing to scratch up his leather jacket but coming out otherwise unscathed.

“Hooooly shit.” He said, looking back through the fence at Spock. He wasn't sure what expression was on his face, but he hoped it wasn't too embarrassing.

McCoy seemed a lot more reluctant to get tossed through the air. Spock got back into position, offering his hands as a boost, and McCoy continued to hesitate. Kirk glanced both ways, sure they only had a few more seconds before someone turned a corner, and Spock still needed time to climb over.

“Bones, I swear to God, if you don't get your ass in gear I'll ask Spock to grab you by the seat of your pants and chuck you over.” He hissed, gut instinct telling him they needed to move now.

McCoy scoffed, but obediently got moving. Spock tossed him up and over, and while Kirk was still helping Bones up from his much less graceful landing, Spock grabbed the fence with both hands. Kirk let out a yelp of concern, but Spock just started to climb. It seemed his gloves were well enough insulated that he wasn't going to have his heart stop from electric jolts to the heart.

Spock dropped down next to him. His shirt sleeve was torn from the barbed wire, but other than that he was unharmed. Kirk shook his head, and then turned back around. Fifty feet away, a shuttle was sitting. It was completely unguarded, the nearest guard on the other side of the yard.

Starfleet was too arrogant for its own good, Kirk thought. He, Spock, and Bones took off in a dead sprint for the shuttle, needing to get out of the line of sight of the guard that would be coming around the corner in the next few seconds.

They reached the shuttle seemingly without alerting a guard, but Kirk stayed squatting in its shadows as he checked their status. There was a guard slowly making his way back to their side of the shuttle yard, but he hadn't seen them. The guard outside the fence was just as clueless.

“Alright, good.” He said, only slightly out of breath. Adrenaline made his skin feel like it was crawling as he just hid there. “Let's get inside. Spock?”

Kirk and Bones stood up, abandoning the shelter of the shadows, and took up a ready stance on either side of Spock. Spock turned to the shuttle and started to electronically pick the lock. Kirk and Bones kept a careful eye on the area around them, and for a while it looked like they might even make it into the shuttle without any problems.

Then, just as Spock's hacking code reached about halfway, a guard caught sight of them. “Hey! Who are you!? Step away from that shuttle!”

Kirk glanced at Bones. If they started shooting, they were going to keep shooting. Bones seemed to read his mind. “You can try,” he shrugged, referring to Kirk's timeless maneuver to bluff his way through whatever situation they found themselves in.

“We're doing maintenance on this shuttle! Did they not tell you?” Kirk asked, casually putting his hand on the gun strapped his his hip.

“Nobody does maintenance this early!” The guard said, still walking towards them. Much closer and he'd no doubt see that they didn't have uniforms of any kind on, not to mention the guns. “I'm gonna need to see some identification!”

Kirk sighed, glancing around. It didn't look like this guard had called anyone in yet. Kirk raised his silenced pistol took the shot, feeling a surge of satisfaction when the guard hit the ground, dead before he'd stopped moving. “Keep an eye on Spock. I'll get his ID badge, just in case we need it.”

McCoy nodded, pulling his own gun from the thigh holsters on his leg. Kirk quietly moved over to the guard and flipped him over. He paused, hearing the comm unit beeping almost angrily, but quickly just took the ID card and rushed back to his companions.

The door opened as he came jogging up, and Spock led the way inside, tucking his electronic hacking device into the bag on his shoulder. “We should hurry,” he said, and dropped into the pilot's seat. “Please sit down and put on your safety belts.”

“You sound like a damn roller coaster announcer,” Bones grumbled, but he did as he was told. His hands gripped the seat buckles with white knuckles, and he already seemed to be tinged green. Kirk was reminded with a savage joy how often Bones got sick in their private jet when Sulu started to be a little more adventurous in his flying.

Kirk settled down beside him, ignoring the seat belts for now. “You alright?”

“I might throw up on you,” Bones said.

Kirk grinned and squeezed his knee. “I'm gonna go sit by Spock, then.”

“Knock yourself out.” Bones said. He leaned his head back and shut his eyes tightly.

Spock started all the steps necessary for liftoff. The door shut just as an angry voice called out for them to land, and Spock shot Kirk a look that clearly told him to hurry. Kirk snapped himself into the copilot's seat immediately. “Let's go.”

The moment they lifted off the ground, Bones started cursing. Spock moved quickly, hands flying over controls as he lifted them out of the shipyard and sent them rushing off. Kirk whooped and laughed as they crossed over the fence, the shuttle zipping through the air.

They were _fast._

“We're keeping one of these, if we can.” Kirk announced, pulling his phone out of his pocket and sending a message to squad two that they'd stolen their shuttle. “This is fucking awesome.”

Spock had them careening in a nonlinear path to Starfleet Headquarters, likely to confuse anyone tracking or following them. At Kirk's delighted laughter, Spock looked at Kirk as he pushed the accelerator to full speed, and they hurtled past the trees below so fast the trunks _bent_ for them. Kirk grinned even wider, his cheeks beginning to hurt.

Spock looked back to the viewscreen, navigating them around taller trees without slowing them down. Kirk howled, almost wishing he had a window to roll down so he could feel the wind cut across his skin. Spock was doing this for _him_ , he was showing off, he was fucking peacocking and Kirk _loved it._ He wanted to fly forever.

Eventually, Spock had to slow down. Shielding or not, hurtling full speed into the side of an enormous building would probably get them all flattened. He halved their speed as they approached, and Kirk felt anticipation building in his gut so tight he wondered if he were a spring about to explode.

“Impact in five.” Spock said, and Bones' cursing doubled in speed. “Four. Three. Two.”

“One!” Kirk shouted with him, wanting to keep his eyes open but knowing better.

It felt worse than the explosion. At least when the bombs had gone off, he'd been thrown away. This impact was blunt force slamming in back in his chair. He bit his tongue and tasted blood. The shuttle started wailing with sirens around him and Kirk didn't open his eyes, but he knew they were _still_ crashing through the building.

Finally, they stopped. The viewscreen was wrecked, a solid black that showed nothing of what awaited them outside. The control panels in front of both he and Spock were sparking and fried. The wall on Spock's side was dented in almost to touching Spock's shoulder.

Kirk tore off his seat belt. Spock was moving slightly slower as he recovered from the jolt of impact, but he was unhurt. Kirk stood and reached him before he could unbuckle.

And then he was kissing him. It was hungry and desperate, and Spock went rigid beneath him. Kirk growled, crushing their lips together until it almost hurt, and finally Spock's hands gripped the back of his neck and his hair, dragging him closer. Kirk went, bending as Spock pulled him lower, feeling the rubber and leather of Spock's gloves and wishing they were his bare hands. Spock's mouth was hot, and Kirk trembled from the sheer force of the kiss.

“Dammit Jim! Timing! We're criminals, not exhibitionists!” Bones snarled, and Kirk kept kissing Spock for a few seconds longer just _because_ , before finally pulling back.

His lips were swollen like he'd been punched in the mouth, and he loved it. Spock looked surprised, the emotion clear on his face. His pupils were blown and his lips were tinged green. Kirk drank in the sight like it was the last he'd ever seen, just in case it was the last time he'd see it, and then it was gone. Spock's perfect control had the flush gone from his cheeks and his eyes returning to normal in the time it took Kirk to take two breaths. He couldn't fix his swollen lips, but that was all the evidence that remained.

“When we get out of here alive, we're going to do that again.” Kirk said, ignoring McCoy. He added, before he could think not to, “I fucking love you.”

Spock pulled off a glove. He hesitated a moment, and then took Kirk's hand in his, twining their fingers together. “I fucking love you too.” He said, and Kirk _felt_ the teasing emotion seep through their joined fingers.

“Great. Now can we go?” McCoy demanded, “I'm pretty sure people noticed us crashing into a building.”

Kirk released Spock's hand and moved away, grinning at Bones and walking with a little more swagger in his step as he moved towards the door. McCoy rolled his eyes at him, shaking his head. The door to the shuttle was already cracked at the seam and threatening to fall open, so he glanced back at his companions.

Spock was back to his scarily composed self, a pistol held in both hands. Bones had drawn his big bowie knife and was standing just to the side of the broken door, ready to ambush whoever came through if necessary.

Kirk drew his own gun, double checked the ammunition and safety, and then slammed his boot hard into the door. It fell open, and Spock immediately killed the man raising a phaser at their faces. Kirk combat rolled out of the door and took shelter behind the rubble that remained of the last wall they'd slammed through. He heard Spock and McCoy exit the shuttle behind him, and spared them both a glance to make sure they'd found shelter.

McCoy had his pistol out now, knife carefully hidden back in its sheath on his thigh. Spock still looked like a demon, expression completely blank as he put his back to the wall and peeked around. There was an entire security team, six in all, rushing them. Spock took down four, and Kirk hurried to get the rest, bouncing up to shoot before ducking back into cover.

They cleared the room, and Spock moved in, eying the room number. “We are three doors away from Admiral Marcus' quarters.” He told them quietly. He turned his face to look in the direction they needed to go. “That way.”

Kirk took point, because he refused to let either of the others do it, and they moved down the hall. Security teams kept coming, and they kept putting them down. Spock took a glancing hit to the shoulder that barely slowed him down, but Kirk made sure to shoot the guy that made the shot in the dick before killing him.

“Here,” Spock said, “Procedure forces all personal rooms into a lock down when a break in occurs. I can attempt to hack--”

A security team of twelve suddenly came barreling down the hall, some taking cover behind pillars or trash cans. Kirk started shooting, ducking behind a potted plant that really didn't offer much shelter, but they were at the end of the hall. There wasn't much down there to hide behind.

“Break it down!” Kirk ordered, “Bones, help me shoot these guys!”

“I was just planning on sitting on my ass!” McCoy roared, firing down the hall. A trashcan fell to pieces, and Kirk took down the woman reloading behind it quickly.

“Shit,” Kirk grunted as the pot holding the plant he was hiding behind shattered. He ducked immediately and a bullet slammed into the wall by his ear. “Shit, shitshitshitshit, Spock, get that door open!”

Bones started firing again. Kirk was at least relieved that he was covered by the pillar. Kirk, however, was not so lucky. He half-ran, half-crawled rapidly across the hallway and ducked behind a maid's cart, cursing in Klingon as the toilet paper inches from his nose was completely destroyed by bullets.

Spock suddenly reared back and kicked, and the door slammed inward. He and McCoy rushed into the room, weapons drawn, and Kirk shouted a warning. McCoy took the bullet to the back of his leg, and it passed clean through.

There were three security officers left in the hallway, though the elevator at the end of the hal signaled more coming. Kirk used the last four bullets in his gun shooting the officers, and then switched to the repeating rifle on his back, firing at the 'down' button until the elevator started making alarm noises that meant it was stuck.

“Jim! Come on!” McCoy shouted, just inside the doorway. Jim grabbed his pistol off the floor and rushed into the room, kicking the door shut behind him.

The relative silence of the room compared to the clusterfuck of a gunfight that had gone on outside was almost deafening.

McCoy was hissing as he prodded the wound on his leg, but it wasn't causing him to bleed out and he could still walk, so Kirk hoped he was fine. He still crowded close for a moment to check, before McCoy shoved him off and told him to help Spock search the room.

They didn't have to look far. Admiral Marcus was sitting in his room. The armchair he sat in probably cost just as much as one of Kirk's less personalized cars, and he didn't have a weapon in sight. He watched them come in with narrowed eyes.

“Jim, son, can you tell your Vulcan to stop bleeding on my carpets? Red doesn't stain too bad with this color, but green? That's hell to get out of the carpets.”

Kirk stared at him. Hatred beat out of his chest as steadily as his blood flowed. This was a man that Kirk had trusted for years, even if he didn't really like him. He'd been Pike's friend. He was controlling, yes, but in this city, sometimes you had to be.

But you didn't have to blow up buildings and threaten the safety of Kirk's Crew.

“You lied to me,” Kirk said, reloading his pistol without looking. “That's a shitty thing to do.”

Marcus snorted. He lifted his beer off the table and took a long sip. “Yeah, because I'm sure you've never lied a day in your life. What kind of gang leader are you, Jimmy Kirk? Getting soft with your bitch of a Vulcan to protect you?”

“They always play the Spock card. What the hell?” Kirk complained, “I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself. And what about my other bitch? Bones, you ever feel left out?”

“Call me your bitch one more time, Jim, I swear to God.” McCoy sighed, rolling his eyes skyward.

“Perhaps it is simply that your affection for me is so easily readable.” Spock offered. It was a joke. Kirk snorted, grinning, and teased back.

“I mean, I love Bones too...”

Spock fired a warning shot at the wall. Marcus didn't flinch. Kirk backtracked to the situation at hand quickly.

“Anyways, Marcus. You want to explain to me why you keep blowing up buildings around my crew?” Kirk asked, leveling his reloaded gun back at Marcus.

“You think I should just let you gangs turn my city to rot? Turn a blind eye?” Marcus curled his lip, “Not a chance.”

“You've never gone for the Orions. We cleaned them out.” Kirk clicked his tongue, “Or how about Nero? The fucking murderer of Vulcan, living right under your nose, and you didn't do _shit._ No, Marcus, don't expect me to believe that you did all this just to rig the city of gangs. Try again, without the bullshit, please.”

Marcus stared at him, not speaking. Kirk sighed. “Bones?”

McCoy stepped forward, holstering his gun to pull out his knife. “Now listen here, Marcus, I'm a doctor. I know exactly how much you can take before you bleed out. So please just answer Jim's questions, alright? I hate getting messy.”

Marcus snorted, “You're a good man, Leonard McCoy. You don't need this shit.”

“Trying to steal my doctor, Marcus? Good luck. He's been mine for years.” Kirk sighed, “Come on, don't make this hard. I'm asking simple questions. Why are you coming after my gang?”

Marcus hesitated, but Bones set the knife against his ear. “Fucking hell. Fine. I didn't know how much you knew, so I had to come after you. I wasn't lying. I am cleaning up this city. Just not from you.”

“What are you talking about? How much I knew about what?” When Marcus didn't immediately answer, Kirk sighed again. He didn't give Bones a chance to do much, though, because temper won out over patience and he shot Marcus in the knee.

Marcus shouted, doubling over. In the process, McCoy cut the side of his face. McCoy stepped back, frowning. “Now that's just disgusting, Jim.”

Marcus had tears in his eyes as he looked back up. “You bastard, you fucking bastard. I was cleaning up after myself. I let Khan out. I unfroze him and let him go. I sent him after Pike. Pike was a liability and I'd left him on his own too long. Fuck, _fuck,_ I'm going to die, Kirk, you happy now?”

“You're not dying.” McCoy rolled his eyes, “Not yet. Shut up.”

“You sent Khan after Pike? Why?” Kirk was horrified. Pike and Marcus had once been as close as he and Bones, if the stories were to be believed. They'd been separated for a long while because of Pike's dishonorable discharge, and Kirk had never gotten the full story, but Marcus sending someone to kill Pike made no sense.

“Listen the first time, dammit!” Marcus roared, “I was cleaning up! Pike took the slack for me, ten years ago when we killed every single one of Khan's evil, fucked up family! But people were looking into it again, and I'm not having it come out now!”

Kirk stared at the man before him in disbelief. “You killed Pike, your best friend, for some shitty career move?” He shook his head, lip curled back in disbelief. “That's pathetic. That's... that's idiotic. Why would you think Pike would tell on you? Ten years later, when he's already taken the blame once?”

Marcus glared at him, “You wouldn't understand. You had your leadership handed to you.”

Kirk rolled his eyes, “You're right, I don't understand.” Kirk waved at Bones and Spock. “One of you kill him. I'm done with this.”

He stalked back to the living room, and then emptied his magazine into the picture of Admiral Marcus' old starship that hung above the couch. He didn't hear a gunshot over his own firing, but Spock came out of the bedroom a moment later.

“McCoy is disposing of the body,” Spock said, “I have alerted the evacuation team to our concluded business. They have already stolen a shuttle, and should be here momentarily.”

Kirk nodded, “Thank you, Spock.” He looked at him, “All of this, for such a stupid reason.”

Spock folded his hands behind his back. “I have observed that some humans cherish power above all else.”

“You've observed that, huh?” Kirk leaned back, half-sitting on the entertainment center. “From who? Me?”

Spock stepped forward, into Kirk's personal space again. His body always gave off twice the heat of anyone else. Kirk could bask in it forever. “Negative, Jim. You do not cherish power at all.”

Kirk blinked, because he wasn't sure that was true. “What do you mean?”

“You are a leader. You will always be a leader, even if you should step down.” Spock shed his gloves and tucked them into his belt before reaching up to card his hands through Kirk's hair. Kirk's eyes went half mast, but he listened intently to Spock's words all the same. “However, it is not the power you are craving. It is us. Myself, and Dr. McCoy, as well as Nyota, Mr. Chekov, and the others.” Spock leaned in and touched their foreheads together. “You do not crave power. You crave family.”

Kirk flushed. He was still not used to the idea that Spock was allowing this, that Spock encouraged this closeness and contact. Spock liked his personal space, and although he had never pushed Kirk out of his personal bubble, he had also never before invaded Kirk's so thoroughly. Kirk felt warm all over, and not only from the proximity but because he knew Spock was right. He would give up his leadership position in a heartbeat to keep his people safe.

The outer wall blasted apart and he and Spock dropped, ducking behind the entertainment center. Bullets riddled against the TV but didn't seem to be aimed low enough to pose any danger for them.

After a few more seconds, the bullets stopped. Kirk hesitantly peeked back over, only to see Chekov waving from the open door of the shuttle, his minigun balanced on one hip. He looked cheerfully destructive. “ _Zdravstvuyte_! We came to pick up the Keptin, and Meester Spock! And also Doctor McCoy!”

McCoy stumbled out of the room half a second later, his eyes huge. “I thought I'd walk out here to find you two dead as that bastard.” He jerked a thumb back to the bedroom, which was steadily growing redder with fire. “Fucking hell. A little warning next time, Chekov?”

Chekov shrugged the minigun higher on his hip and beamed. “Next time, I will shout ''look out, I am shooting my minigun!'', yes?”

McCoy rolled his eyes and grumbled about ''kids these days and their sarcasm''. He glared at Kirk and Spock, still lying on the floor, and then stomped towards the shuttle, taking Uhura's offered hand and climbing in.

Spock helped Kirk to his feet and they moved towards the shuttle together. Spock stepped up on the door that was acting as a ramp, and turned to reach back for Kirk. Kirk reached for the hand extended to him, still smiling.

His eyes widened at something over Kirk's shoulder. “Jim! Down!”

Kirk didn't have time to follow the order. Pain ripped through him, and he looked down to see that there was blood, spreading out from the middle of his stomach and again from his chest. “Spock,” he choked, and blood spilled down his chin, “Sp-Spock--” His hand was still reaching for Spock, but he couldn't reach, couldn't _reach._ He didn't seem to be able to get any closer, Spock was so far away...

The black spots in his vision multiplied, and then he went blind. And then he fell, blood pouring out of him like tears from seemingly every part of him, off the side of a building.

  
  



	9. Chapter Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kirk is dying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. What a journey. And here we are at the end. This is the last ''official'' chapter of your knife to my back, my gun to your head. There is a short, sweet epilogue after this, but then it will be over.
> 
> I'm going to come back to Knife Verse, at least for the prequel. Maybe I'll even write out a sequel, for Beyond. We'll just have to see.
> 
> Thanks for sticking with me until the end, guys. Also, forewarning: there is a bit of jumping around in the timeline here, so keep an eye on the bold headers. Typically, if it's italicized it took place immediately following the previous chapter.
> 
> warnings for this chapter: BLOOD. A lot of blood, medical talk, codependency, rage, violence, terrifying!Spock, raging Spock, gruesome violence, talk of sex, temporary character death

**_Three Days Before // 6:30 AM // Admiral Marcus’ Quarters_ **

 

_ Spock caught Kirk as he fell. _

_ If he hadn’t, Kirk would have just kept falling. Down, down, down, until he hit the pavement nine stories below.  _

_ It was a careful catch. If Spock had simply taken the hand still outstretched to him, he would have pulled Kirk’s arm from its socket from the momentum. _

_ So Spock had his arms around Kirk. Everything smelled like blood. Kirk was too hot in his hands, too slippery. Spock clutched at him, holding him against his chest, feeling his shirt go sticky with blood that wasn’t hit. Kirk was bleeding and dying in his hands, smearing Spock’s skin with red red red. Kirk was dead. He was dead. Jim was dead. _

_ Spock’s head had never felt so empty.  _

 

**Three Days Before // 12:04 PM // The Enterprise Hospital Wing**

 

“I need more blood! Chapel! Get me more blood, he’s bleeding out again!” McCoy roared. His arms up to his elbows were so deeply stained red they were black with it.

He did not have gloves on. That was a safety hazard, Spock thought, but could not bring himself to care when McCoy plunged his hands back into Kirk’s body.

Jim’s body, which lay there on the table. Spock couldn’t hear the beeping of his heart monitor, again. This was all going to end soon, he knew. James Kirk would die, and Spock’s soul would follow because there was no use for it without his t’hy’la, without the warmth and passion in his head that he’d never noticed because it was always present, from the day his feet turned away from his father.

Without James Kirk, the human in Spock would die too. 

Jim was dying. He would be dead by evening.

He wondered if there were enough Vulcans left that he might still be able to proceed with kolinahr. There was no use feeling when all that was left was emptiness.

 

**_Three Days Before // 6:30 AM // Admiral Marcus’ Quarters_ **

 

_ “Spock, let me see him! Let me help!” McCoy was yelling. Spock recognized his voice and the steady dry hands that were grabbing at his sleeves and his arms and pulling, trying to get to the man Spock cradled against his chest. It was almost not enough. Spock almost broke McCoy in half before he finally snapped out of it long enough for McCoy to pull Kirk’s dying body from his arms. _

_ The doctor lay Kirk on the floor, and McCoy started to shout. He was pushing on Kirk’s chest. It was an attempt to restart his heart, Spock knew. The thought occurred to him that he could help, in a far, far away part of his mind, but Spock felt as though he were being torn in two. A part of him remained eerily calm. _

_ The other half was aflame. His lips pulled back from his teeth, and a noise unlike anything he’d ever made tore out of his chest as he threw his head back. The wind shifted, ruffling his hair in a different direction. The door to the shuttle started to close.  _

_ He reached out and broke the steel pulley lifting the door shut before it could fully shut, crushing it in his hand and then tossing it away. It fell back open with a bang. _

_ “Spock!” Uhura screamed. She knelt next to Kirk and McCoy. She was wearing black tights beneath her skirt and her knees were wet with blood. _

_ Spock heard nothing. He jumped from the shuttle back into Marcus’ living room. _

_ The man in the doorway raised his gun again. His hands were shaking. Spock hit his wrist first, felt it crack as Spock pushed his hand back flat against his arm. He felt nothing but fury, despite the skin to skin contact. The gun fell and Spock kicked it away before he reached out, grabbing the man by the throat. Human flesh gave easily beneath his fingers, and the man choked wetly for a moment before Spock’s fingers tightened. His windpipe collapsed. He died choking on his last breaths. _

 

**9:00 PM // The Enterprise Hospital Wing**

 

It had been too many hours. The blood had dried on Spock’s skin and clothes until they crinkled like paper when he moved. He should change. He should shower. Instead, he stood in the room where blood splattered the floor and walls like a horror movie, and McCoy yelled and cursed and spat like Spock had never seen him do.

Spock wasn’t sure what they were trying to accomplish. Kirk had flatlined three times. He’d come close too many more times to count. 

McCoy wasn’t stopping. His tools were covered in blood. Spock had never seen so much blood. He worked with a gang, but the scene before him was the scariest thing he’d ever witnessed. He found he couldn’t move, couldn’t even voice his protests as McCoy stitched together and tore Kirk apart again and again, trying to get his parts working.

It was illogical. A waste of resources. Kirk should be dead. He was going to die.

Spock did not say any of it. He found himself refusing to believe most of it. Jim Kirk must live. Spock would pour out his own lifeblood if that meant Kirk would live, but it wouldn’t help. Spock  _ couldn’t  _ help. The damned green blood in his veins didn’t have anything to offer to Kirk.

He watched the beeping on the heart monitor speed up again, and listened to McCoy curse. 

 

**_6:30 AM // Admiral Marcus’ Quarters_ **

 

_ Spock dropped the dead man, the fifth so far, listening to him thump to the ground as limp as a doll. Two more men came barreling through the broken slab of a door. One had a gun raised, the other was struggling to pull thiers. Spock roared, his words tearing from him in pure, furious Vulcan that hadn’t been used in decades. The man with the gun missed his shot. Spock tore the gun from his hands, and whipped it across the face of the other man, hearing bones crack. _

_ His fingers broke skin this time when he lunged forward, and the man’s blood ran over Spock’s hands. Spock snarled again, disgusted that this man’s blood might mingle with his Jim’s. _

_ Three more officers slammed down the shards of the door, and Spock slaughtered them all. He had been shot, he knew logically, but it was nothing but a mild inconvenience. There was more red on him than green. _

_ He would have kept going. He would have torn the entire building down brick by brick, but then a face filled his vision. It was Uhura, her face paler than it should have been. Her voice was hoarse when she spoke, like she’d been screaming. She had blood on her delicate hands and on her knees, and tears running down her face. Spock stopped only because she was standing in the doorway, and he wasn’t going to throw her away like he’d done the security officers. _

_ “Spock,” she said, voice barely more than a sob, “Spock we have to go. We have to get back to The Enterprise. We can save him if we go.” _

_ Spock stared, because she was wrong. “He is dead. My Jim is dead.” He said. His voice was even more wrecked than her was. _

_ She shook her head, ponytail swinging behind her. He watched it like it might calm the torrent of rapid fire emotions trying to drown him. “He’s not. Not yet. McCoy found his pulse. But we have to go, Spock, we have to leave. Please, if you love him at all--” _

_ Spock snapped his teeth. “Do not question the strength my emotions towards James Tiberius Kirk.” _

_ Uhura looked on the verge of tears again. “Spock, we have to go!” _

_ Spock looked back at the shuttle. He did not dare allow himself to hope, but it unfurled in his side anyways, taking residence in the heart that his head could not reach. He returned to the shuttle, and knelt by Kirk’s side, carefully out of McCoy’s way. _

_ His fingers stroked across Kirk’s limp hand, and felt nothing. Nothing. Nothing. _

 

**11:15 PM // Enterprise Hospital Wing**

 

It was late. Uhura and the others that had been waiting at the door had retired to their rooms. McCoy was sitting in the chair beside Kirk’s bed. His face was drawn tight, and he looked exhausted.

“You should shower, Spock. I told you he’s stable, for now. You standing there won’t make him any stabler.” McCoy said, not looking away from Kirk’s pale face.

Spock remained where he was. “I could say the same to you, Doctor.”

McCoy looked up, meeting his eyes for the first time since Spock had jumped off the shuttle and torn apart half the forces of the security team. “I’m not leaving him. He could fall into dangerous levels at any time. He needs me more than I need a shower or sleep.”

Spock stared back. “Do you believe he is going to live, Doctor?” Spock asked, knowing the answer but needing the words to come from McCoy’s mouth anyways.

“I think I’m not going to stop trying.” McCoy said, “Jim is fighting to live as it is. The least I can do is keep handing him weapons.” 

Spock nodded slowly. He took a step closer, and then paused. “I… if I touch him, will it hurt him?”

“It might hurt you,” McCoy said quietly. “I don’t know how much pain he’s in, Spock. He was… he was in pieces. I don’t even know if I put him back together in a way that will hold, or if I just put duct tape on a broken vase. But the regenerator is recharging, and I can’t risk any more stitches on his lung.”

Spock stepped forward again, stopping when he was standing directly beside Kirk’s bed. An hour ago, there had been blood splattered on the tiles beneath his feet. A nurse had wiped it all away to pristine whiteness. Everything was clean except for Kirk himself, and McCoy. And Spock.

Spock gently touched Kirk’s hand where it rested on the sheets. Pain was present, yes, and it nearly overwhelmed the other emotions Spock could feel, rushing around inside Kirk like he was a bottle of soda shaken to the bursting point. Spock closed his eyes and focused on calm, calm, calm.

He released Kirk’s hand, not sure if it helped or not. It was all he could do.

“You got shot too, Spock. You finally gonna let me look at you, or growl at me like you’ve been growling at all my nurses?” McCoy was standing again. He leaned on Kirk’s bed, glaring at Spock. There was exhaustion and worry creased into the lines of McCoy’s eyes and mouth. 

Being reminded of his wounds had Spock reassessing his inner systems. He’d shut off the part of his mind that registered pain while he sought revenge for Kirk. Now, he turned it back on, and nearly fell down.

Two wounds resided in his torso. Neither had hit major organs. One phaser blast had struck between two of his ribs on his right side, the other had burned the same shoulder. There was a knife wound across his thigh, and another in his calf. His left ear was singed with phaser fire as well. “Perhaps that may not be ill-advised.” Spock grunted as McCoy steadied him.

McCoy sat him down in the chair he’d vacated, and checked him over. He ordered Spock’s shirt off, and Spock complied. McCoy salved and dressed his wounds as Spock stared at Kirk’s still face. Even in sleep, Kirk’s eyelids had danced with dreams. Now he was utterly still.

Bandaged and feeling the pain ebb from McCoy’s medicine, Spock stood. “Thank you.”

McCoy nodded. “You need to get the blood off you, or risk infection.” He waved his hand at his office, “There’s a shower in there. I’ll holler if anything in Jim changes. Go get cleaned up, Spock.”

Spock was not unused to arguing with McCoy. They argued endlessly, over trivial things and important things both. Kirk called it bickering. He claimed they did it because they liked to hear themselves talk. Spock was not inclined to admit that he enjoyed arguing with McCoy, but tonight he was not wrong.

Spock needed a shower. He also needed to step away from Kirk. Just looking at him, still and pale as a corpse, reminded Spock of the mindless rage that had overtaken him. 

He had almost lost himself completely.

Surak help him, he had fallen into emotional rage so endless and deep he had wanted to watch the bones break, taste the blood of his enemies against his tongue as he tore and shattered and destroyed everything in his path.

_ All for James Kirk,  _ his mind supplied, and he felt terrified again.

He stood beneath the shower, watching blood red and green wash down the drain. He was grateful McCoy’s shower things were practical and without flowery or fruity smell as he scrubbed his arms and hair, mindful of the bandages.

When he was satisfied, he stepped out of the shower. A pair of clean scrubs had been set by the door. Spock took a moment to be grateful that Leonard McCoy existed (an occurrence which he usually only recognized after the doctor pulled Kirk out of life-endangering situations), and dressed. 

“Thank you again, Doctor.” Spock said by way of greeting as he returned to Kirk’s bedside across the room. 

McCoy looked up. “Yeah, don’t mention it.” He looked Spock over. “Are you going to talk about it?”

Spock’s posture straightened. It shouldn’t have been noticeable, but McCoy’s eyes narrowed. “If you will clarify as to what you are referring?”

McCoy shook his head, “Don’t give me that shit. You went… I dunno,  _ rabid,  _ or somethin’. Chekov was cryin’, Spock. You fucking roared like a demon or something. What happened?”

“I had become emotionally compromised by what I assumed to be the death of our leader.” Spock folded his hands behind his back. He needed to meditate. He needed to sleep. He needed to do a thousand things other than stand by Kirk’s bedside, but nothing was going to move him from his place. “It will not happen again.”

“You’re our second.” McCoy said slowly. “It… it can’t happen again, Spock. You know that, right? They all need you.”

Spock looked away. “It was disgraceful. My actions were unacceptable, and I am aware of it. I will take precautions.”

McCoy studied him a moment longer and then nodded slowly. “Alright, Spock. But… listen. I’m only gonna ask this once, and then we’ll pretend it never happened. Deal?”

Spock raised an eyebrow.

“Are you okay? I know you and Jim… you’re… whatever you are. Are you doing okay, right now?”

Spock’s eyes fell to Kirk’s too-pale face again. “No,” he said, “I am not. If he does not return to health, I will need to give leadership of the gang to Mr. Scott.”

Spock expected McCoy’s protest. Perhaps he expected McCoy to grumble about how “damned irresponsible” that was. 

Instead, what he received was a quiet. “If Jim dies, and you leave, I’ll go with you. This place ain’t my home. Jim’s home, has been for a long time.” Spock studied McCoy gravely, not sure what to say. McCoy met his eyes again. “You know he and I are stuck together like peanut butter and jelly. Without him, there ain’t much need for me here.”

Spock did not think Vulcan Elders would allow him to take the test of kolinahr with McCoy following him around. 

He did not say that to McCoy. Instead, he raised his hand in a Vulcan salute. “Without Jim, there is reason for very little of anything.”

McCoy had never been able to make the sign. His fingers just didn’t bend that way. But he grinned at Spock, a sad little twist of the lips. “That, Spock, is the truest thing you’ve ever said.”

Then the machine started to screech and beep, and McCoy had to sheath his hands in gloves and fix another hole in Jim’s insides.

 

**Two Days Before // 1:15 AM**

 

Kirk had been stable for forty-six minutes and twelve seconds when Spock allowed his eyes to stray from the fluttering pulse in his neck for longer than the time it took to blink. He looked at McCoy.

The doctor was scrubbing his hands in the sink with the single-minded focus that Spock associated with detaching oneself from a situation. Spock had been there for his entire life.

McCoy’s forehead and brow had been coiled so tightly for so long, Spock worried he would get a headache. If McCoy had a headache, he couldn’t properly treat Kirk. Therefore, Spock said the first Kirk-like thing that came to mind.

“It is times like these that I most wish I could become intoxicated.” 

McCoy looked up from the towel he was methodically scrubbing over his forearm. He chuckled and a slight bit of tension bled from his face. “Yeah? I can get you something for that, but I’ll be kinda jealous, being the only sober one watching our mutual pain in the ass.”

“Your brandy will not make me drunk.” Spock said.

“No,” McCoy agreed, “But the chocolate Jim chickened out of giving you last month will.”

Spock did not say anything for a moment. “It is better I am sober, in case you require my assistance again.”

McCoy nodded, dragging over his rolling chair and settling down in it backwards, straddling the back. “If you’re tired, you can sleep in one of the beds down here, Spock.”

Spock shook his head. “Vulcans do not require as much--”

“You’re human, too.” McCoy growled, “But fine. Stay up if you’re so inclined.”

Spock chose not to argue. He was, in all honesty, exhausted. But Kirk was still not in the safe zone, and McCoy was obviously tired too. He would remain awake.

 

**3:12 AM**

 

The next time Kirk started to die, McCoy jabbed a stimulant into his own neck, and then waved a regenerator over Kirk’s thigh while holding parts of his artery together.

 

**5:00 AM**

 

Kirk was not getting better. The attacks weren’t as frequent, but his levels weren’t as stable, either. 

 

**12:12 PM**

 

Infection set in. When Spock heard this, he wanted to tear open the wounds himself and heal them with sheer force of will. But he stayed back, out of the way, shrouded in shadows by the door. There was no one but McCoy that he trusted enough to save Kirk’s life.

Uhura brought him apple juice to keep him awake. He couldn’t sleep if he tried.

 

**5:00 PM**

 

It had been five hours since Kirk’s last attack, and twelve minutes since McCoy declared that he’d cleared out the infection. Spock stood watch while McCoy stole another handful of stimulants from the box Chapel had tried to get rid of.

McCoy stabbed another into his arm before they hit the half-hour mark. Spock found himself wondering if he should take one as well.

 

**The Day Of // 12:00 AM**

 

McCoy was breaking down. Spock could see it. His hands fumbled once, taking two tries to turn the regenerator on. Kirk’s lung was clear of infection but wouldn’t heal. McCoy didn’t know why.

It was like Kirk himself had given up.

He flatlined again at 12:01, and Spock did something crazy.

He shoved McCoy out of the way and put his hands on either side of Kirk’s face. “Let me in, my t’hy’la, the other half of my soul,  _ let me in _ .”

And Kirk’s eyes flickered open, his heart jumping before flatlining again, and Spock was inside of his mind.

It was a thousand times more calm than the glimpses Spock had caught in passing. He did not think that was a good thing.

_ Jim. _ He called, with his mind and with his soul. With his entire being. He was inside of Kirk’s head and yet he felt alone.

Kirk appeared in front of him like he was summoned by Spock’s will alone. He looked younger than life, and frightened. “It hurts.” he said, “How do I make it stop?”

“You must not,” Spock whispered, pulling Kirk to him and wrapping him up in his consciousness. He took all that he could of Kirk’s pain, feeling it like lightning and fire across the surface of his mind. He sent back in its place love and calm feelings, as many as he could project.

The image of Kirk which represented his consciousness trembled, seeming to fade. “Spock, tell me how not to feel?”

“I have never been able to stop feeling when it comes to you.” Spock admitted, “I cannot help you not to feel for me, because I am selfish and want all that you can give me.”

“I can’t give you anything,” Kirk said, fading still, “I have nothing left.”

“No,” Spock argued, “You have  _ everything _ left. You are the sun,” Spock whispered, and where Spock touched Kirk’s consciousness, gold erupted. “You are the sun, and you give and give and give, and even if you burst, Jim, you will burst into something even brighter. Please, Jim. Stay with me.”

Kirk solidified, just a little, but it was enough for Spock to join their hands mentally, to connect them. “I can help you,” Spock offered, “I can help you, if you will let me in.”

“You’re already everywhere,” Kirk sighed, sounding weak and sleepy, “You’ve always been everywhere. Heart, head. Yours, Spock. All yours.”

Kirk leaned against Spock, and Spock kissed his nose, his forehead, his cheeks and jaw. “I am yours, as you are mine. My mind to your mind, my soul to your soul.”

He stretched his consciousness into Jim’s mind. Memories assaulted him but he battered them back, pushing them gently away when they were tenderer ones. There would be time to look and understand later. For now, he needed one thing in particular.

He unlocked every bit of Kirk’s immune system he could find, poured his entire heart into Kirk’s will to live. He jumpstarted Kirk’s cells, sucked up his pain, and  _ helped  _ as much as he could, pouring everything he was into Kirk.

“You’re hurting yourself,” Kirk said suddenly, grabbing him and wrapping him up mentally, their consciousnesses intertwining until Spock wasn’t sure where he ended and where Kirk began.

Kirk was gold, and Spock was as blue as an Iowa sky. Their colors were as different as they came and yet Spock wasn’t sure which was which as Kirk wrapped them together, tied them as tight as they could be.

It was a bond stronger than any Spock had heard of and he could not protest. He could feel Kirk beginning to fight again, to heal.

“I must go, t’hy’la.” Spock whispered, “I love thee, like I love nothing else.”

Kirk leaned forward and the sensation of being kissed washed over Spock’s consciousness. “I’ll wake up soon.”

“Please,” Spock begged, as he’d never begged for anything.

When he opened his eyes and breathed in in the real world, he fell to the floor, and found he could not move.

 

**10:13 AM**

 

Spock slept until early morning in a bed beside Kirk’s. McCoy told him that he didn’t know what Spock had done, but Kirk’s heart had started back up. The infection was definitely gone, and his lung had started healing, too.

Kirk was going to make it. McCoy was certain this time.

Spock spent until eight in the morning quietly filling in the rest of the crew. Now that he could feel Kirk like a warm, pleasant breeze in the back of his head, he did not fret too much about leaving his bedside, though he still did not like to be gone for long.

Uhura was proud of him. She hugged him and kissed his cheek, and when her lips touched his skin her own cheeks were wet as well. “Thank you. We need him too.”

Chekov burst into tears as well. “I would hug you if I think you would not kill me, Mr. Spock!”

Sulu had smiled at him, like he understood. Spock was not sure what Mr. Sulu understood, but he was never really certain about Mr. Sulu anyways.

Scotty had stopped drinking long enough to hear him out, and then he’d started drinking again, pouring a full glass of the oldest bottle of scotch Spock had ever seen. He toasted Kirk, and downed it in one go. Keenser, at his side, wiped away acidic tears.

Spock returned to the medical wing after changing into clothes of his own. The breeze at the back of his head was stirring slightly. He cradled it in mental warmth and went back down the elevator.

McCoy had stubble across his jaw and lips. There was a smudge of dried blood from hours ago on his cheek, and the bags beneath his eyes were as dark as Spock had ever seen them. “He’ll wake up soon.”

“He will be conscious in four point two seven minutes,” Spock said with confidence.

“What did you do? You came back so tired I thought for a second you’d killed yourself.” When Spock seemed hesitant to speak, McCoy waved a hand. “Nevermind, Spock. I don’t need to know. I’m just glad you did it. You and him, well, you deserve somethin’ nice.”

Spock did not smile. But he did allow the brief feeling of appreciation to swell in his chest again at the doctor’s words.

Four point two six minutes later, Kirk’s eyes opened.

It was as if the world itself breathed a sigh of relief. Kirk looked at them both with drowsy, crystalline eyes. “Bones? Wha’ happened?”

“Oh don’t gimme that raspy voice. You were only mostly dead.” McCoy reached out and ruffled Kirk’s hair. “Good to see those baby blues, Jim. How ya feel?”

“Mostly dead,” Kirk grumbled, shifting in bed. “Spock?”

Spock stepped into view around McCoy’s shoulders, and Kirk seemed to relax even more. Spock stared down at him, waiting for something to say. Nothing came. His relief was so overpowering that he didn’t know what to say at all.

“Ugh, fine, I’ll give you two a moment. I need a shower and like, seven years of sleep, anyways. Chapel’s gonna watch over you, Jim, if you give her any problems I’ll put the bullets back in you.” McCoy ruffled Kirk’s hair again, and then stepped away. 

Kirk waved him goodbye with the grace of a drunk. “Love you, Bones.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Kirk looked at Spock once McCoy had left. “I love you too, you know.”

Spock’s lips twitched. He could not help it. He could feel the truth and power of Jim’s words in his head. “I am aware. I feel strong emotional attachment to you as well, Jim.”

“I can feel you, in my head.” Kirk murmured, reaching out with two fingers. Spock met him halfway for a Vulcan kiss. “You’re so…  _ happy. _ ”

“You are alive,” Spock said simply, “Nothing could bring me greater joy.

“I don’t know about  _ that. _ ” Kirk said, waggling his eyebrows. It did not look so well with how tired he looked.

Spock raised an eyebrow at the feeling of suggestion coming through their bond. “You are barely capable of speaking. I will  _ not  _ be having sex with you for at least forty-eight hours.”

“But after?” Kirk asked, hopeful as a puppy offered treats. 

Spock allowed himself to smile, just to see the expression of wonder on Kirk’s face as it matched the feeling in his head. “Perhaps after.”


	10. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Six Months Later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end! I love each and every one of you readers! If you're still interested, keep an eye on my profile for "draw your weapons'', the prequel that should be coming out soon.
> 
> Live long and prosper, guys.
> 
> no warnings for this.

 

**Six Months After the Death of James T. Kirk // Early Evening**

 

“Who do you think will notice first?” Kirk asked, shouting to be heard over the wind whipping around them. He flicked his eyes from the road in front of him to his hand, smiling helplessly. He was glad Spock couldn’t see his face from where he was sitting, because Kirk wasn’t sure he’d stopped smiling in the past half hour.

“It depends.” Spock said, his voice crystal clear through the comm linking their two helmets. “If you continue to blush and stare at your hand, it will be obvious to everyone at the ceremony.”

Kirk pulled a harsh turn, just for the satisfaction of feeling Spock’s arms tighten around him. Vague alarm rang through his head through their bond, but Kirk ignored it. He’d been riding motorcycles since he was seven, he could handle a turn.

“I can’t help that I’m happy, Spock,” Kirk said, “Don’t pretend you aren’t. I’ve felt you being all giddy in my head all day, except for when the needle was actually on you.”

“I underestimated the sensitivity in my hands. It was more uncomfortable than predicted.” Spock said. Kirk felt his hand flex against his stomach. “And yet I find that the discomfort was well worth it.”

“I’m glad you think so.” Kirk said, eyes drawn back to his own hand.

With their career, it was impossible to wear rings all the time. There was no telling when they’d need to get their hands dirty, and a ring could easily slip off and be lost. Kirk didn’t want that, and though Spock had suggested wearing rings on chains around their necks, Kirk wanted something more permanent and out there. He wanted something he could see every time he looked down.

He’d barely managed to convince Spock, but Kirk was a manipulative little shit when he needed to be. He also wasn’t subtle about what he wanted and how he planned to get it. If Spock’s hands got a little more attention than normal while they rolled around in bed, Kirk wasn’t about to say anything.

It was a simple tattoo. Spock wasn’t averse to inking his skin, he even had a long string of Vulcan words written down his spine, but his hands  _ were  _ sensitive, and it had to be unpleasant to have a needle pricking at the base of his finger. So he and Kirk had settled for thin black bands around their ring fingers. Kirk’s was slightly more elaborate, two lines twisting together while Spock’s remained solid and straight. They were a blatant invitation to enemies if anyone caught on, but Spock found he didn’t care.

Let them try to take Jim from him.

Kirk parked the bike in a back garage, kicking down the kickstand. Spock climbed off first, shucking his helmet and reaching up to smooth his hair. Kirk let his own bright gold helmet hang from one of the handlebars and turned.

He watched Spock flatten his bangs, and then couldn’t resist grabbing Spock by the back of his neck and hauling him down for a long kiss. When he pulled back, Spock had a green flush to the tips of his ears. “You look fucking great in a tuxedo, Spock,” Kirk warned. “Like,  _ really _ good.

Spock reached down and straightened his own tie before fixing Kirk’s. “The same is true for you. Are you prepared, sir?”

Kirk beamed, “I’ve been ready since Nero, Mr. Spock.”

Spock’s eyes softened and he reached out, twining their index and middle fingers together softly before releasing him. “Let us go, then. Our Crew does not like being kept waiting.”

“Bones is gonna cry.” Kirk said as they linked arms and headed for the garden outside the garage together. 

“I suspect there will be many tears shed tonight.” Spock agreed, pushing open the door. 

“Any crying from you?” Kirk asked, grinning teasingly. 

“Of course not.” Spock raised an eyebrow. “Vulcans do not cry.”

Kirk laughed, and was still smiling up at Spock when the door opened.

It almost got stuck. The garden wasn’t much on its own. A city like San Francisco didn’t offer much in terms of lush green and rainbow gardens. But his Crew had outdone themselves making it beautiful and glamorous. It probably cost a small fortune, and Kirk loved it.

There had been a long, narrow gold carpet thrown out across the burnt grass like a walkway that ended right at the door they’d opened, and stretched to right up snug against the fence, where Scotty stood with a big black book.

As Kirk stepped onto the rug with Spock his heart began to pound loudly in his ears. It was excitement and nerves and vague panic all in one, because it had been six months, only six months since Kirk had kissed Spock after an adrenaline filled flight to a mission that would end his life.

Not permanently, obviously, but the fact remained that Kirk had died. Twice, actually. Three minutes total.

3.556 minutes total, actually, as Spock liked to constantly remind him.

His thoughts were racing, and he could feel Spock soothing him through the bond. But no amount of mental caressing was slowing down Kirk’s mind and heart now. They reached the end of the aisle before Kirk even registered walkling, and his heart racked up the speed even more.

Spock released his elbow, and stepped away slightly. Kirk nearly dragged him back to his side, but he remained less than a foot away.

Scotty talked fast. He’d gotten ordained as a minister years ago, and hadn’t had much practice or use for it since. He seemed pretty emotional, though, as he ran through the ceremony that told them what they were committing to. “Do you have vows prepared?”

Kirk nodded wildly. Spock did the same, calm as the eye of a storm. Scotty held out his hands, gesturing for them to get to it.

“Spock--” Kirk said, at the same time Spock said “Jim.”

They both stopped, and then laughed quietly, staring at each other. Uhura started sniffling. Spock inclined his head, a gesture for Kirk to go first.

“Spock… when I met you, I don’t know why I handed you our card.” Kirk grinned sheepishly, “Pike was pissed. He said I had no business giving you an offer, when you couldn’t even lie to keep our secrets. But I trusted you. Right then and there, in that alley, I trusted you.” He took a deep breath, “I’m not good at speeches. You’d think I would be, leading a gang and all, but when it really matters I just can’t find the words.”

“Listen... One of the last coherent things my mom said to me before she left was that she hoped I never got married. She said it kills you slowly. She said it’s just not for Kirks, because we move too fast and can’t be tied down.” Kirk reached out because he couldn’t not take Spock’s hand. Spock hadn’t looked away from his eyes throughout him speaking. “She might be right about us. I do tend to live life like a  _ Fast and Furious _ movie. But I think I’m gonna keep you, Spock. You’re the only one that keeps up with me. I love you more than violence. You and me, we’re forever. I can promise that much. And anyways, if we're gonna live the life we live, we don't have to worry about dying slowly. We'll go up in a blaze. So let's burn this city, yeah, Spock?”

Kirk finished, and looked at Spock expectantly. His heart was racing after the little speech he’d given. It may not have been poetic or sappy, or maybe it was too much of both, he didn’t know, but it was truth as he knew it.

Spock cleared his throat, and then said, “I have called you t’hy’la, and that is something I can never take back. Never will I want to. You are everything, and though the existence of fate and destiny are illogical, if either were to exist, mine would lie with you in every way. You know my soul as no one ever has, nor will, and you own it as much as you have ever owned anything.” 

Spock’s words were a fraction faster than normal. Kirk could feel him, nervous as well, and wanted to throw himself fully into the bond. But they were at a wedding, and their friends were present. That would be rude.

“For you, I would give everything I am. I have already changed so much. Vulcans despise violence and killing. And yet when someone threatens you with a knife, I do not hesitate to hold a gun to their head. I would kill for you, and have killed, and for that I can feel no guilt. I can not imagine a universe where we are not together. I have been, and always shall be, yours. Just as you will be mine. Ashau nash-ve du, James Kirk.” Spock finished, and Scotty concluded the ceremony with,

“You can kiss each other now.”

Kirk was crying. He didn’t realize it until Spock’s hand brushed across his cheek, but he had tears running down his face. Just a few, but Spock’s adoration for him, flowing through every point of contact, almost caused Kirk to cry again.

Spock leaned in to kiss him, and a bullet cut clean through the air, knocking the little wax figures from the top of the wedding cake. Kirk sighed. Spock kissed him chastely, much too chaste for a wedding kiss, and then pulled the gun from the back of his tuxedo pants and turned around.

The streamers caught on fire as the rival gang (fucking Klingons, no sense of timing) broke down the fence, knocking it down with their motorbikes. Kirk sighed again and pulled his own gun from inside his tuxedo jacket. 

“If I get blood on my wedding tie, I won’t be held responsible for my actions.” Kirk warned, leveling the gun at the apparent leader of the gang.

“Oh, shut up. Like you should be wearing a white tie anyways.” Uhura was beside Spock. She was barefoot, her heels left neatly beneath her chair. In her long gown and flower-braided hair, she looked like a princess. A princess with a sawed off shotgun. She was something like Spock’s maid of honor.

McCoy laughed from Kirk’s shoulder, and Kirk wished he’d picked a different best man. “She’s got a point, Jim,” he said, and then he shot out the tires of several motorcycles. "And when have you ever been held responsible for your action, anyhow?"

“If you get remarried, Bones, don’t invite me. I died for you all, you know.” Kirk muttered, grumpy. He might have said more, but then a Klingon hefted a nail-studded baseball bat and tried to swing it at Chekov’s head.

“HEY! You don’t interrupt my wedding, take a hit at my baby gangster, and live to tell anyone about it!” Kirk roared, shooting the Klingon’s hand. Chekov pulled an assault rifle from under his chair and went to town.

As bullets went flying, ruining all the decor and ending the wedding with an  _ actual  _ bang, Kirk wiped blood off a busted lip and decided he wouldn’t have it any other way.


End file.
